After Strange Aeons
by nisolis
Summary: When the Argent Crusade and the forces of the living start becoming too powerful, the Lich King searches for alternate ways to bring down his enemies. But when one of his plans takes him to the depths of the Titan City of Ulduar, will Azeroth be able to stand against the forces of the dead? Or will, in the end, only death await?
1. Prologue I: Cold Thoughts

**Prologue: Cold Thoughts**

 **The Lich King**

Cold.

That was all the Lich King could feel after all these years. His humanity forsaken, his people betrayed... All the Lich King could feel now, was cold. Sitting on his throne, atop the very spire he first climbed many years ago, the only sound that came to Arthas' ears was the rustling of the wind against his armor, and that defiant voice in his memories...

 _"ARTHAS!"_

"Fordring..."

The paladin. The wielder of the Ashbringer, the one weapon that could rival Frostmourne. Appearing to face him at Light's Hope Chapel, creating the Argent Crusade to oppose him, organizing the Argent Tournament to find adventurers powerful enough to face him...

"Hmph."

The thought of an army confronting him made him laugh. Sooner or later, they would all feed his blade. Sooner or later, they would all serve him. Yet, the paladin was always there opposing him, daring to face Death Itself. Maybe, just maybe...

A dim flash of blue light interrupted his thoughts. Coming from the metal teleporter that linked all of Icecrown Citadel to the Frozen Throne, appeared a man wearing green and rotten vests. A few chunks of purple hair fell from his head, and a putrid smell came with him.

"My king." The man bowed before Arthas, looking at the floor in respect.

"Putricide." The Lich King's voice echoed above the Frozen Throne, "Inform me of your progress."

"Of course, milord. The creation of Abominations has been greatly increased, thanks to the great number of corpses brought by your army. The progress on the new Plague toxin has also bee-"

Arthas' powerful voice interrupted the scientist. "About the task I gave you."

"Oh... Milord..." Putricide had hoped that it wouldn't be him who had to give his King the bad news, "I-I-I'm really, re-really sorry to inform this, but about the task..." Putricide stopped talking for a second. He could feel the overwhelming pressure the Lich King was exerting. He carefully chose his next words. "We've had... in-inconclusive results about its... non-physical properties. No test has given any indication about its involvement with the su-sudden madness sparking in some of your soldiers, milord."

Arthas pondered for a minute. He knew the metal had at least some involvement in the blossoming madness that appeared in some troops, both dead and alive. He already recognized its physical power; the very citadel he stood upon was made from the metal. But if it had other properties... Could a power like that be harnessed? If he could bend the metal, not only as a crafting material, but as a weapon to drive his enemies into insanity, he would be one step closer to bringing both Fordring and Azeroth down.

"Putricide, continue the testing on the metal. If any results appear, inform me immediately."

"Of course, milord." Putricide stood up from his kneeling position and walked towards the teleporter. With the same dim flash of light that announced him, he was gone.

Arthas remained on his throne, wondering. The chilling winds of Northrend breezing across the spire, all he could feel was the sound of his thoughts, looking for any knowledge that could be useful. After some minutes, he remembered a conversation with one of his death knights, many weeks ago, who had been sent to Dragonflight to convert the Kalu'ak people to the Scourge.

 _"They are brave fighters, my king, but they are still afraid of one thing."_ The death knight had come to inform his King about the Scourge's progress. _"Our scouts concluded that they referred to the saronite veins spread across Northrend. They call it "the black blood of Yogg-Saron"_.

Yogg-Saron. The Old God of Death.

Arthas knew of its existence below Northrend, as well as the influence it spread across the continent. Even though stories of its defeat at the hand of adventurers reached his ears, he could feel the twisted magic of the god still resonating upon the land. But even then, he never considered it as a threat. Even if some minor skirmishes occurred between the Scourge and influenced locals, as well as within the Scourge itself, they were never mayor enough as to give them importance. After all, he had the Argent Crusade, as well as the Knights of the Ebon Blade, the Kirin Tor, the Alliance and the Horde to deal with. He could dismiss a fallen deity.

Arthas pondered about his plan of action. If Yogg-Saron's influence was the reason for the "special" properties of saronite, maybe there was another way to harness its hidden power. He would have to take a more dangerous, direct approach...

He stood from the Frozen Throne and descended the stairs towards the platform, the sound of his boots stepping on the ice echoing through the air. Once down, he focused dark energy on his upper limbs, his mind forming the image of the resting place of his blade. Unleashing the gathered energy with a wave of his hand, a black portal appeared in front of him; purple smoke covered the gate, and a black skull rested upon its top.

Before stepping into the portal, Arthas had one last thought.

 _"When I've mastered this power, Fordring, you will crave for the cold embrace of death."_

* * *

 **Hi, my name's Nicholas, and this is the first fanfiction I publish. As such, any reviews and comments will be appreciated! If you have any criticism, opinion or idea, please feel free to tell me.** **I hope you enjoyed the start of this story!**


	2. Prologue II: Violent Memories

**Prologue II: Violent Memories**

 **Tirion Fordring**

"¡Again!" The sound of lances striking the wooden targets, especially made for practicing, filled the training grounds of the Argent Tournament. Tirion Fordring, Highlord of the Argent Crusade, watched the new recruits as they rode on their chosen mounts, horses, hawkstriders and even kodos charging against their objectives.

Heroes of all races had gathered at the call of the Crusade, eager to show their worth and receive the honor of accompanying the renowned paladin on the final attack against the Lich King, at the Icecrown Citadel. Even though there was still some friction between members of the Alliance and the Horde, Tirion had made it clear that they had to work together to bring Arthas down.

Tirion observed, sitting above one of the wooden fences that limited that part of the training grounds. Even though they were in one of the warmest zones in Icecrown, the cold still managed to make even the strongest mortals to chill. Thus, Tirion had decided to wear his bear fur robes and boots, in attempt to keep the cold away. His grey hair, proof of the passing of time, twirled around with the winds that blew through the mountains.

As he supervised the trainees, his mind wandered through different memories, eventually reaching that fateful day at Light's Hope…

" _Pathetic_." _His voice resonated through the holy grounds, spreading fear on his enemies' hearts. The Lich King stood in front of him, his black armor reflecting the weak sunlight that shone across the Eastern Plaguelands. Frostmourne, the cursed soul-devouring blade, rested on his hand, after having swept the very commander of his attacking forces, Darion Mograine._

" _You're a damned monster, Arthas!" Even without a weapon as mighty as Arthas', Tirion stood defiant against the Lich King. He would not let anymore of his brothers die against the Scourge. Too many had already fallen defending the Chapel against the invading forces of the dead. Their sacrifice would not be in vain._

 _Arthas let out a low, evil chuckle. "You were right, Fordring. I did send them in to die. Their lives are meaningless, but yours..." He saw as Frostmourne was pointed towards him. "How simple it was to draw the great Tirion Fordring out of hiding. You've left yourself exposed, paladin. Nothing will save you."_

 _He wasn't able to react in time, as a bolt of black magic struck him in the chest. "Aaaaaagh!" he roared, as the attack made all of his being twitch in pain, falling to one knee. It hurt, it hurt a lot. He gasped for air, trying to recover himself. He could barely hear his paladin comrades yell an attack shout towards the Lich King, nor could he do anything to stop their incoming end._

" _APOCALYSPE!" A black smoke surrounded the Lich King, advancing towards all the attacking Defenders and slaying them on the place. All warriors lucky enough to survive the spell, were thrown yards away by the sheer power of the attack._

 _He would not let it end like this. He couldn't. A desperate thought crossed through his mind. "Light, please, answer my call. Give me the strength to defend my people!"_

 _He barely heard his name being shouted by the very person who started the attack. "TIRION!", he saw the Death Knight, Darion Mograine, throw his very weapon towards him before collapsing. With a surge of newfound strength, he quickly stood from his knee and catched the whirling weapon._

 _He could feel as the warm, protective embrace of the Light washed through him and the blade. The once tainted sword recovered its original shine at the contact with Tirion's hand, and where once stood a skull, now a golden disk marked the revival of the legendary sword. The Ashbringer had been cleansed._

" _ARTHAS!" He shouted against the Lich King, who was still surprised at the turn of events._

 _"What is this?", he asked in disbelief, tightening the grip on Frostmourne. Preparing to attack, Tirion answered. "Your end." He ran towards Arthas, preparing to strike…_

"Highlord, are you okay?" Tirion blinked for a moment, surprised at the interrupting of his thoughts. He looked up to the sky; the sun had almost set. For how long had he been there? He then observed the small child that stood before him: his rudimentary clothes had the same color as his brown, dirty hair. Probably just a stable boy sent to look for him; he remembered having a reunion to discuss the organization of the Trials.

"I'm fine, boy." He gave the child a sweet smile, and put his hand above his head. He had always liked kids, even though his life as a paladin had made him celibate. "Just remembering better times… Tell everyone I'll be there in a couple minutes."

The kid smiled back and started running towards the organizer's tent. With a last sigh, Tirion jumped from the wooden fence. Upon contact of his feet with the ground, he started flexing to recover the feeling on his limbs. Even if he didn't know for how long he'd been there, it had been enough to let the cold take its toll on his limbs.

He looked southeast, as if searching for the menacing shadow of the Icecrown Citadel. Soon, they would attack Arthas and claim justice for all he had done. He hoped the Light would accompany them until that day, and with a last glance, started walking towards his meeting.


	3. Chapter 1: Preparations

Chapter 1: Preparations

 **The Lich King**

Froustmourne hovered over its altar, pale blue light shining through the ceiling and reflecting on the blade. A ghostly, ethereal energy whirled around the blade, freezing the very air around it. The Halls of Reflection were the private chambers Arthas seldom used to rest. They had been built to resemble Lordaeron's Imperial Chamber, but still feeling as cold and lifeless as the rest of the Citadel.

Arthas admired the blade as it floated upon its pedestal, his mind remembering the first time he had seen it, so many years ago. Froustmoune had marked the beginning of his ascendance into the Lich King; now, it would herald the fall of Azeroth. He could feel the blade trying to reach him, eager to reunite with its master. He would soon feed Frostmourne the souls it so savagely craved.

As he began to step closer towards his sword, weak noises started resonating on his ears. With each step, the sounds became louder and clearer; eventually, he could actually make words out of them. _"Arthas, you monster!", "Traitor!", "You've dishonored your family!"…_ Just some of the many things the souls trapped within Frostmourne called to him.

For as much as he amused on the suffering of the spirits inside his blade, he had no time for that right now. He gripped Froustmourne with his right hand, and all voices went silent. He could feel the dark, twisted magic run through the blade. He sheathed the sword on his belt, and focusing energy on his left hand, the same gate that he had used on the Frozen Throne appeared in front of him. Without looking back, he crossed the portal.

* * *

 **Tirion Fordring**

"Okay then… so the tamers have already controlled both of the ice worms. Have you received any news about the warlock's response?" Tirion looked over all of the papers scattered above the wooden table: invitations for the factions' leaders, bestiaries containing the different species of Northrend…

A tall, red-haired human answered his question. "Mister Wilfred Fizzlebang, if that's his real name, has already confirmed his assistance for the realizations of the Trial, and I quote, _"will show the attendants the might of a master summoner."_ Hmph, big mouth for such a small gnome."

"Do not underestimate the power of your enemies for their height, Mariel. Even if I don't personally agree with the magic he employs, every help is to be thanked and appreciated."

"My apologies, Highlord." Justicar Mariel Truehart bowed in forgiveness for her joke. She was in front of the legendary Tirion Fordring, Highlord of the Argent Crusade; she had to behave as such.

"It's alright, Mariel." He gave the paladin a gentle smile. "I'll go have some air if you don't mind. I'm pretty sure you can take it from here." Justicar Truehart quickly responded, "Of course, Highlord. I'll check everything left for today." Tirion waved her goodbye, and after reaching for his coat, stepped out of the tent.

It took him a couple seconds to adjust to the darkness outside, but the cold struck him as soon as he stepped out of the organizers' tent. He quickly started walking towards his chambers, eager to reach in his warm, cozy bed. He had spent at least a couple hours checking all the papers and reports that came from the Argent Crusade, but excluding one or two letters about skirmishes with the Scourge, all papers were about the preparations for the Tournament's grand event.

As Tirion walked through the stables, he thought of the Grand Trials that would take place in a couple weeks, and then of all the reports he would have to go through tomorrow. Even though he had always hated paperwork, he knew it had to be done for the Tournament to run smooth. This was no light task after all: they were looking for the warriors who would accompany them on their last attack on the Citadel; everything needed to work as swiftly as possible.

As he reached his personal tent, he looked one last time at the dark skies. He wondered what sinister plans Arthas had in his mind right now. Maybe he was planning an attack on the Tournament? Or even worse, an invasion towards the factions' cities? He shook those thoughts out of his mind. No matter what that damned monster was preparing, he had confidence in the Light and in his comrades. With one last, weak smile, he entered the warmth of his tent.

* * *

 **The Lich King**

He appeared back on the top of the Citadel, right in front of his throne. He took his seat, ready to think about everything he'd need for his plan. If he was going to visit the monster resting beneath Ulduar, he would have to be prepared. This was no visit to his lieutenants or skirmish against the Argent Crusade; he was about to infiltrate a Titan complex and locate its prisoner, one of the ancient deities who used to control Azeroth.

He pondered about that for a minute. Even if he had the forces of the undead at his command and was able to resurrect creatures from the grave, he was about to confront the physical embodiment of death itself. The obvious comparing between "king" and "god" crossed through his mind… No. HE was the one who would bring the end to the living; Yogg-Saron was nothing more than a rotting corpse inside a prison.

Yet, he knew what the Old Gods were capable of. Even though their powers were mostly a mystery, it was widely known that their corrupting capabilities were beyond anything else known to Azeroth; he wondered if the Burning Legion's highest lieutenants, or even himself for that matter, came even remotely close. If they were that powerful while imprisoned, who could imagine how devastating they would be if fully released?

He pushed those thought aside and focused on the matter at hand. If he was to reach the God of Death, he would need at least two things: a description of Yogg-Saron's capabilities (or any information about the Old Gods in general), and a map to guide himself through Ulduar. Even if he had never been there himself, common sense told him it would be no easy task to find his target. He wondered about those two things for a while; where could he find them?

Besides, not only would he need a map, but also enough troops to actually reach the Old God's body. After all, if stories were to be believed, the Titanic Watchers inside Ulduar were once again active. Mechanical guardians should be patrolling the whole complex; for as mighty as the Scourge was, Arthas was not fool enough to enter a full blown war against the Titan constructs, not with the Argent Crusade still out there.

After some thinking, he realized he didn't need a map to Ulduar per se; he just needed the memories of someone who had already been there. He would easily find at least one of them, given how renowned they had becoming after slaying the God of Death. He had enough spies around the living to locate them; hell, some of them were probably participating in the Argent Tournament. As for the enemies waiting inside…

With one of the requirements out of the way, he moved to the second one. He started thinking about all the places he knew that could contain such ancient and forbidden knowledge. Of all the libraries he could think of, probably none of them would hold useful information.

He needed an easily accessible place, where he knew he could find such uncommon knowledge without finding any undesirable obstacles. Suddenly, his mind drifted to one of his oldest, most hidden memories: the stories his Mother told him when he was no more than a child. If he had still had a heart, he would've probably shed a tear after the thought of his caring mother, but such weakness had long been removed from him, thrown from the top of his Citadel into oblivion.

He rested on that thought for a minute. That place… He knew he would find at least some information regarding such mysterious themes, given the legendary mage that once took residence in it. And what where the possibilities of finding someone roaming around, given the place's peculiar fame of being cursed to its very founding?

He quickly stood from his Throne and descended the frozen stairs. Just as he did some hours ago, he gathered dark energy in his left hand, and with a subtle gesture, a dark portal opened in front of him. Even though the place was far enough that he couldn't directly sense it, there were some undead members of the Scourge close enough to do the trick. Silently, he stepped through the portal and disappeared.


	4. Chapter 2: Forbidden Knowledge

**Chapter 2: Forbidden Knowledge**

 **The Lich King**

Deadwind Pass.

The moons shone up in the sky, their white and blue light contrasting with the dull grey of the rocky environment. Sharp ledges and canyons, absent of any color, bordered the simple path that led passing adventurers from the dark forests of Duskwood to the more life-covered Swamp of Sorrows. The winds, though not as freezing as those from Northrend, made the few living beings in the zone to shelter for the night.

In one of its roads, a black light surged out of nowhere, taking the form of a gate out of which black smoke erupted. From it, a humanoid figure, covered in dark, sinister-shaped plates, emerged. A strange blade, engraved with blue runes on its front, hanged from his belt. Under the weak light of the moons, the Lich King looked even deadlier than usual.

Arthas took a moment trying to figure exactly where he'd arrived. Sure, he had approximated the Pass' coordinates by using the presence of the Scourge's few forces in Duskwood, but unlike major cities, figuring where the portals would end was not easy, even for him. Besides, the repetitive scenery of the zone didn't help at all.

He looked up, searching for the White Lady and the Blue Child. Up inthe sky, they both stood guard over the Great Dark Beyond, illuminating the nocturne skies of Azeroth. Remembering his days of adventuring as the prince of Lordaeron, he turned to face east and started walking. Even though he'd never been in Deadwind Pass before, he'd seen maps describing the zone. Following the road, he would reach the tower eventually.

As he walked through the rocky cliffs of the Pass, Arthas became lost in his thoughts; not that there was much too see anyways.

He remembered the tales he'd heard about Karazhan; the cursed tower where the last Guardian of Tirisfal, Medivh, once took residence. Strange tales were told about the tower; that the spirits of its last visitors still haunted the halls; that the tower itself would fend off any intruders… hell, he'd even heard some people say that the spirit of the Guardian still persisted inside Karazhan. He thought about that for a minute… would he be able to control such powerful spirit?

He stopped himself from wondering such useless things, and started thinking about his plan. He had decided to go to the tower on his own, both to go mostly unnoticed, and to ensure that he would find what he looked for. If there were any unlucky adventurers on his way, maybe he would even add more soldiers to the Scourge. He had pondered about sending one of his death knights instead, but finally decided against it; too many of his lieutenants had already failed him in less dangerous missions.

He then started wondering about the necessity of this trip. Was it that crucial to gather information about the Old God? Part of him insisted on getting back to Icecrown, avoiding any unnecessary trouble; he was the Lich King, Master of the Scourge, Bane of the Living… he should be able to handle a weakened monster.

Another part of him, more cautious, thought about the corrupting power of the deities. Many of the strongest beings in Azeroth's history had been manipulated by them: the fallen Earth-Warden Neltharion, the Elemental Lords… Even without their mind-corrupting abilities, their sheer power was huge: while dormant, years ago, he felt the great surge of magic coming from the awakened Old God C'thun as its forces battled against the Alliance and the Horde. He realized it had been an Old God after feeling the same dark magic in the corruption spread by Yogg-Saron.

He needed that information. He had to be as prepared as much as possible to face such thing; he would not end up under the influence of the Gods. Besides, the great library of Karazhan was rumored to contain knowledge about all the history of Azeroth. Even if he didn't find something related to the Old Gods, there could be some useful information: secrets of Northrend unknown even to him, ways to overcome the power of the Light… the list went on.

He barely noticed the passage of time as he walked through the road. After a couple hours, he finally laid eyes upon his target.

Karazhan.

The mighty tower was located at the center of an old, abandoned village surrounding it. Its walls, made of great stone bricks, showed the same strength they had on the golden days. Arthas looked up, trying to find the ceiling; he failed miserably. The tower was extremely big, almost touching the clouds with its height. He compared it to his Citadel; though not as visually imposing, it definitely had a stranger, more mystic aura to it.

Arthas could feel the magic coming from the tower. He wondered about the reason behind it; unlike the Frozen Throne, which had been infused with power by Kil'Jaeden long ago, the magic spreading from Karazhan felt… distinct. Strange. He shook those thoughts aside and approached the entrance.

A rusty, metal gate stood at the end of the road leading to the tower, daring any travelers to enter. The Lich King stopped a couple feet from it. He could still go back at this point… No. He would enter the tower, and find the knowledge to bend the power of a god.

With that last thought, he pushed the gate and entered the tower.

The entrance hall wasn't really shocking: a cobblestone walkway led through a wooden arc into the unknown to the left, and a great staircase leading towards upper levels stood behind some marble pillars to the left. Arthas stood for a minute figuring where to go. He didn't take long to realize that he had no idea where the library was located. He could easily get lost traveling through the halls of the tower, but he had no time for that.

He stretched his right arm in front of him, opening his hand. After focusing energy through it, an orb of black smoke formed over his palm. After a couple seconds, a small orb of smoke detached from the main one and started hovering around Arthas. Then, a second orb detached from the main one, then a third, and a fourth. After a couple of minutes, dozens of small smoke orbs hovered around Arthas, waiting for orders. He dissipated the magic, the first orb in his hand disappearing.

The Lich King's mighty voice resonated through the hallow halls. "Spread through the halls and locate the library." The many orbs quickly responded to their master's will, and after dividing in groups, started advancing through the corridors of the tower. He channeled his magic into his optic nerves, and locating the magic essence of his orbs, linked his eyes to them.

He could see through his smoke orbs, no need to walk through the tower now. Many images passed in front of him: large corridors of stone covered with paints, halls with silk carpets covering its floors… one of the orbs even reached a great room which resembled a theatre; a great stage hid behind two giant red curtains, and many sits stood organized under a great chandelier, almost as if they were waiting for an opera to start.

But the Lich King hadn't come to appreciate the scenery. He switched from orb to orb, waiting for the library to appear. Some rooms contained a couple bookshelves filled with books, but nothing worthy of being called a library. Just as he was starting to lose temper at the almost countless corridors and rooms of the tower, he saw it. He quickly casted a portal the orb's location, and went through.

He appeared inside a circular hall, a golden chandelier shining at the top of the room. And bookshelves. Many, many bookshelves. As he had seen through the orb, the door led to a spiral ramp, which in turn led to an even bigger room completely filled with books. Growing confident that he would achieve his goal, he located all the other orbs around the tower and called them to his position.

As he waited for his summons to appear and cut the optical link to his orbs, he realized something: he hadn't seen any spirits around the halls. Even though the orbs had seen a (probably) great part of the tower, he had yet to see even one miserable ghost. "Hmph." So much for a cursed tower. After a while, all the smoke orbs arrived at the room.

Since he'd already reached the library, Arthas thought about relaxing a bit. But he decided to be extra cautious. Focusing more magic around the orbs, they started becoming translucent, the black smoke turning more transparent with each passing second. After a minute, they could barely be seen.

"Search this library for any book or document regarding the ancient beings of Azeroth. Aspects, Titans, Demigods, but most of all, Old Gods." He wondered for a second, "Look also for any information concerning Northrend, saronite, the Light, or the history of Azeroth." Arthas kneeled, placing his left hand on the floor. A black pulse emerged from his palm, and a circular rune, engraved with patterns, appeared over the place. "You're to bring your findings to this rune. Go."

He could feel his orbs spreading around the library, each one obeying its lord's will. He'd spent quite some magic to make sure they could recognize the information without his aid, but he was the Lich King; given his colossal amount of mana, he could barely notice the difference. Since his orbs would do the job for him, he decided to walk around the library.

He left the room, walking down the ramp into the bigger hall. Even though he had no heart, he could still appreciate the taste in decorations: red and golden patterns crowned many of the ornaments in the library. Candles positioned on each of the marble pillars lighted the zone, giving the hall an almost mystic look.

He then noticed something peculiar: there was no ceiling on the library; no, there WAS a ceiling, but it was totally destroyed. Broken pieces of stone floated above the library where its roof once stood. He wondered what kind of magic kept the shattered ceiling in place. Between the moonlight coming from the gaps in the "ceiling", and the light coming from the candles, there was enough illumination for anyone who wanted to read.

Arthas even thought about picking up a book himself, but he suddenly felt something. A strong, powerful presence approached the library. Almost as a reflex, he spent more energy hiding the orbs' essence. He tried sensing the presence again, but it was gone.

No. It wasn't gone. It hid itself. Arthas became more cautious, looking around the library to find anything out of place. Perhaps there really were spirits roaming the tower? No, even if he felt it for barely a second, it was way too powerful for a simple ghost. In the split second that he'd managed to notice it, he felt an aura of wisdom, strength, nostalgia… almost like it was someone who was defending its home.

His eye barely caught a strange movement on the air. He turned his face, only the see the movement of books from the bookshelves to the room where the rune stood. At least they'd found something. Then, a strong voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Well then… perhaps you'd like to tell what you're doing in my master's home, stranger?"


	5. Chapter 3: A Clash of Magic

**Chapter 3: A Clash of Magic**

 **Khadgar**

The first warning sign came from the first line security measures he'd casted at the entrance of Karazhan. It was a simple spell: whenever someone entered the tower, an arcane flux of energy would travel from the tower to Khadgar, thus informing him of the intruder. At first, he didn't give it too much importance; many adventurers going through Deadwind Pass would enter the tower out of curiosity, just to escape at the presence of the spirits roaming the halls.

The second line warnings went a little beyond that: if a spell of any sort was casted inside the tower, the arcane flux sent towards the archmage would be altered to match that of the thrown spell's magic school. Given the fact that the ghostly habitants of Karazhan who did use magic could only cast arcane spells, any other kind of flux would warn Khadgar of the possible nature of the intruder.

The archmage was on Stormwind, capital city of the Alliance, when he received the warning. He had visited the human city under the request of King Varian Wrynn; he'd asked him to help the Stormwind Military with the training of its battlemages. Even though Khadgar had never been very fond of armies, he'd accepted the request for the sake of good relationships.

After he'd spent much of his time in the draenei city of Shattrah during the campaign in Outland, Khadgar decided to spend some of his time now in Azeroth. Though the Kirin Tor was out in Northrend, helping on the war against the Lich King atop the now floating city of Dalaran, Khadgar had decided to stay on the main continent, wary of any possible attack or incursion made by the Burning Legion. Thus, he spent most of his time wandering around the Eastern Kingdoms; going to Stormwind or Ironforge, sometimes to Darnassus or even the Exodar. Of course, he would revisit every once in a while, his master and friend's old home, Karazhan.

Khadgar had very good memories of the time he spent as the apprentice of the late Guardian of Tirisfal, Medivh. Even though he was always fighting against the corrupting essence of the fallen Titan Sargeras kept within him, Medivh always did the best he could to enlighten his apprentice in the arts of magic. Thus, the archmage of the Kirin Tor felt the least he could do was take care if his friend's home, which he'd almost accepted as a second home of his own. After so many years inside the tower, Khadgar had even learnt to live with (most of) the spirits around. He knew every room, every hall, every doorway...

Thus, when he received a second magic flux which resembled the essence of a shadow spell, Khadgar started getting worried. Maybe a warlock had decided to see the mysteries of Karazhan with his own eyes? He couldn't take the risk. With the trademark morphing spell he had grown so used to, his body began shifting into a smaller, less human form. Where once was skin, now there were feathers. Where once stood a couple of arms, there were now wings.

He quickly flapped his wings and started his flight towards Karazhan, leaving behind the training grounds of the Stormwind Military. There was no time to explain the rookies; he could personally speak to Varian later. So far, there had only been two fluxes, so his concern was not that great. He didn't even feel the need to teleport; the flight from Stormwind to Karazhan wouldn't last longer than a couple hours, maybe one if he hurried up. As he left the city and the green woods of Elwynn Forest appeared below him, it struck: the third flux.

This last flux came from the last line of security measures casted by Khadgar, and it was one he had yet to feel. After the invasion of the tower by the eredar Prince Malcheezar, Khadgar decided to cast a complex magic analysis spell around Karazhan. This spell recorded the magic essence of any intruders, both the power and the nature of the spells, and the arcane alteration produced by the intruder's presence. If the recordings crossed a certain "danger level", a flux resembling the user's magic would be sent to Khadgar.

When he received the third flux, which resembled the darkest of shadow magics, he realized that the intruder was no simple adventurer... Now focused on reaching the tower as soon as possible, he started descending on his flight, shapeshifting back into a human as he landed. Night had already arrived to the Eastern Kingdoms, and Khadgar could see some storm clouds heading towards the east.

There was no time to admire the environment. Khadgar flexed his arm, reaching for the great pole staff in his back. It had quite a simple design, mostly made of wood, with some feathers crowning one the pole's extremes where a carved eagle laid rest. Focusing arcane energy through the body of his legendary staff Atiesh, it began to glow as a purple portal appeared in front of the mage. Through it, a blurry image resembling the halls of Karazhan could be seen. He quickly stepped in.

As he arrived at the familiar halls of Karazhan, he hid his magic presence to prevent being felt. Every being capable of using magic possessed an aura which varied depending on the caster's mana pool, schools he mastered and, most importantly, their personality and emotions. Khadgar's magic presence was especially powerful given his career as an archmage. He proceeded by casting Invisibility on himself.

After making sure he would go unseen, he started searching for the presence inside the tower. He could easily notice a powerful, sinister aura coming from the library. He quickly started making his way there. Since he had lived for so many years inside the tower, he could get from one place to another with great ease, whereas intruders would easily get lost. As he continued through, he noticed the absence of spirits and ghosts. He had never seen them leave before; could the presence really be able to cause this?

As he approached the library, the presence grew stronger and stronger. Khadgar could count with a hand the number of times he'd felt such amount of power. Even though he was a master in most schools of combat magic, and years of experience had made him one of the best battlemages in the world, he started questioning his ability to face something this terrible. In a matter of minutes, Khadgar arrived at the library, and all of his questions were explained.

In the middle of the lower level of the library stood an armored figure, its dark plates shining with the moonlight coming from the broken ceiling. A pointed helmet covered its face, and a strange, glowing runeblade hanged by his side. Khadgar easily recognized the being in front of him; he'd many times listened the tale of the human prince of Lordaeron who betrayed his people.

But what could he be doing here? He was supposedly waging a war in the north against the united forces of the living. What could've brought him to Karazhan out of all places? Many people had tried to uncover the secrets of the tower and use them to increase their personal power, but someone as powerful as the Lich King could not be here just for that… or could he?

Whatever he was doing, it could be no good. He had to drive him out of the tower, or at least out of the library. He thought about teleporting him from the shadows, but his armour would probably protect him from such displacement. Besides, he wanted to at least push him from the library: battling here would undoubtly damage the many books inside.

Finally deciding to act, he sacrificed the element of surprise for a chance to end this without a fight. He loudly asked, "Well then… perhaps you'd like to tell what you're doing in my master's home, stranger?"

* * *

 **The Lich King**

Arthas didn't expect this at all. In front of him, an old man stood defiant. He wore blue and brown leather robes, which contrasted with the short, white hair on his head. On his back rested a wooden staff with a carved eagle on it; he concluded he was in front of a mage. Arthas could see the years of training and experience the human in front of him possesed… Could the presence he'd felt a bit ago belong to him?

"My presence in this tower is none of your business, mage. Be gone." Arthas' voice echoed through the big halls of the library, reaching Khadgar's ears.

"Sorry to interrupt, but it is, indeed, my business. You'll see, this tower belonged to my late master and friend. Thus, I'm ensuring it stays safe from the likes of you." Khadgar's voice stood strong against the Lich King; he would not fear him. "I'll ask you again… What are you doing here, Lich King? Or perhaps you'd prefer your birth name, Arthas?"

Arthas kept staring the mage. He sensed this would end in a battle. "So… am I then in front of the new Guardian of Tirisfal, I suppose?"

"Sorry to disappoint," Khadgar responded, "but I am no Guardian. My name's Khadgar, Archmage of the Kirin Tor, apprentice of Medivh and Keeper of this tower. I will have to ask you to leave this place, Arthas, or I will make you do so."

"Hahahahaha…," Arthas' laugh resonated through the library, "You'll make me do so, archmage?" Arthas unsheathed his blade, Frostmourne, which lusted for the soul of the mage in front of it. "Do not try to stop me… or better yet, DO try to stop me." He pointed the blade towards the mage. "I will gladly welcome you into the ranks of the Scourge."

Khadgar's battle instincts quickly kicked in, as he felt in his guts what would happen next. He released a stream of arcane energy from his palms as he turned around; in a fraction of a second, a purple barrier surrounded the mage, just as black lightning emerged from the tip of the Lich King's blade and clashed towards the barrier.

Arthas could feel the attack trying to break the semi-sphere, sparks surging from the contact between arcane and shadow magic. The lightning, which continued erupting from his sword, started reflecting over the barrier, almost reaching the books. He was obliged to cut the energy flow to avoid damaging them; his smoke orbs where, after all, still doing their task. He wondered if the mage had already sensed them. He would have to keep him busy.

From inside the barrier, Khadgar shouted, "What happened, Arthas? Disappointed after your first attack?" He dispelled the magic barrier, focusing arcane magic in his hands as it dissipated. "Perhaps we should find a better place to settle this, don't you think?" Khadgar transferred all of the energy into his right palm and placed it on the floor.

Just like the spell Arthas had used before, a pattern-engraved rune appeared on the floor, only this time, it was composed of violet light instead of black smoke. This time though, the circular rune quickly expanded itself; Arthas had no time to react before both he and the mage were inside the rune. He tried running towards his opponent but stopped in his tracks just as the magic poured into the teleportation spell became stronger, and the light, brighter.

A storm had arrived at Deadwind Pass, just as the clouds he had seen in Elwynn Forest announced. Black clouds hovered just above the tower, rain falling in great amounts into the roof of the tower. Still destroyed after the battle between a group of adventurers and Prince Malcheezar years ago, great pieces of debris stood scattered over the ceiling. The wind and the rain crashed strongly against the tower, giving the area an almost apocalyptic look.

Khadgar realized that fighting the Lich King inside the tower could be extremely dangerous: not only did he prefer fighting in an open place, but he also didn't want to damage the library of his former master. He'd spent a bit more mana to accelerate the teleportation process, ensuring that Arthas would have no time to react. He knew exactly the place to take the battle to.

After a flash of violet light, both fighters appeared at the only still standing part of Karazhan's roof, where they were welcomed by the incoming rain and the sound of a thunder falling nearby. He could see the raindrops sliding down the Lich King's armor, just like he felt his leather robes soak under the water. He turned towards his adversary, "I think this is a better place for the matter at hand." He took a battle stance, and heat started producing above his palms. After half a second, two fireballs appeared in his hands. "Well then, should we get started?"

The Lich King took a battle stance himself and answered the archmage's question. "Do you really think you have a chance, archmage? Come then. Frostmourne hungers…"

Khadgar threw both fireballs towards Arthas, who merely blocked them with his left gauntlet; the fire dissipated just as quickly as it had appeared at the contact with the plates. He knew he was at a disadvantage in a ranged combat, but he only needed to win enough time for his orbs to gather the books. Not that he feared the archmage; the Armor of the Damned covering Arthas' body gave him extreme protection against most forms of damage, and he had great confidence in his own power and skills.

As he blocked the archmage's first attack, the Lich King channeled frost magic through his blade, directing towards the mage's feet. Khadgar barely noticed when he was stuck to the floor by a chunk of ice. With him unable to move, Arthas started running towards Khadgar, ready to stab the mage with his runeblade.

But Khadgar was no wimp himself. Focusing his sight on a point behind Arthas, he waited for his opponent to get a bit closer; even with that armor of his, the Lich King was pretty fast. Before Arthas had the chance to strike Frostmourne through him, Khadgar blinked behind the dark prince, and started gathering arcane energy in his palms as he turned around. Shaping the energy into an attack, he casted the arcane blast towards Arthas.

He wasn't able to dodge it. Even though the damage he received was minuscule, the force of the impact pushed him back. He quickly regained his balance though, his eyes focused on the mage. He was good, very good. This would be no easy fight.

"Come on, Arthas! I thought you could do better than that!" Khadgar had never been one to mock his enemies, but if Arthas remained as prideful as the stories told, he could maybe break his focus with enough taunting. He wasn't sure how he would win this battle, but for now, all he could do was hold on. He prepared another attack, fire erupting from his hands.

"I'll show you better, archmage!" Arthas focused necrotic energy around him, shaping it into a barrier with his mind. Just as Khadgar released his fireballs, the energy shield emerged, surrounding Arthas. The fireballs dissipated at the contact with the green barrier, barely leaving a scratch. If he couldn't reach the archmage, then he would bring the archmage to him.

He stretched his left hand towards the mage, streams of unholy energy protruding from it. Khadgar wasn't fast enough, and the dark energy wrapped around his limbs and torso. In a split second, he started being pulled towards the Lich King, who had Frostmourne ready to impale his victim.

He barely managed to blink behind Arthas before the blade reaching him, but Arthas anticipated his tactic; with his free hand, he delivered a sideways punch towards the mage, his fist crashing on the side of his head and sending him back. Khadgar landed a couple of meters away, dazed by the strength of the attack. For a split second, all he could feel was the pain and the rain falling on his face.

Regaining his feet and turning back to Arthas, he saw the death knight ready to repeat his tactic; this time though, he was prepared. Just as Arthas casted his Death Grip once again, Khadgar summoned a mirror image in front of him; an arcane clone of his body. As the unholy energy wrapped around his summon, Khadgar started gathering a great amount of fire energy into both of his hands; if fireballs were not effective, maybe this would do the trick.

Arthas angered at the image of his spell trapping a copy of the mage instead of the real one. As it was pulled over, he prepared his blade and, once the image had reached him, impaled it with his weapon. The arcane copy merely puffed into a violet cloud, which quickly dissipated under the rain. When he focused his sight on the mage once again, he saw him holding a huge orb of fire with both of his hands.

"Hahahahah... Do you really think you can break my barrier, archmage?" Rain dropped through the green dome, giving it an even unholier look. Arthas was eager to see the mage's spell fail to break his shield.

"No", the archmage responded, "but I won't need to." Khadgar transferred his huge Pyroblast into his right hand and focusing both his sight and energy into the rest of his body, blinked inside the barrier, appearing in front of Arthas. He barely managed to catch the Lich King's right arm before Frostmourne could descend upon him. He plunged his right hand, Pyroblast still burning over it, into the chest of the Lich King.

The spell quickly started pushing Arthas back, outside of his barrier and into the rain. Even though the plate was protecting him, he could feel the hotness of the flames trying to burn him on the inside. As he was being pushed towards the border of the ceiling, he gathered all the frost energy he could manage into his free fist and struck upon the flame orb. The Pyroblast dissipated under the power of the punch. Arthas took a second to regain his breath; he had stopped just a few meters from the border of the roof. He was underestimating his rival.

Khadgar lost no time. As his tactic had worked, he used the extra seconds to focus on the raindrops falling over them. This time, it was frost magic he would use. Focusing cold energy on his hands, he started transferring it into the incoming drops. He could feel as they stopped on their tracks, their temperature lowering until they became little pieces of ice and their shape shifting into miniature blades. In a matter of seconds, there were hundreds of small icy knives waiting for the mage's order.

He wouldn't give Arthas even a second to regain his breath. The moment he saw the death knight regain his feet, he sent all the ice blades flying towards him. If he could make Arthas fall from the tower, he could have enough time to think what to do next.

Arthas saw the incoming ice blades; if the mage wanted a battle of magic, that's what he would get. He extended his left arm, Frostmourne resting under his right one, and started employing frost magic of his own. Whereas one second before, a thousand ice blades where flying towards him, they had now stopped dead in their tracks. He focused even more magic into his hand, growing brighter every second, and the ice blades once directed to him were now on their way to meet Khadgar.

The archmage hadn't expected Arthas to reverse the spell, but he wouldn't give up so easily. Imitating his adversary, he focused more energy into his spell, and the ice blades once again stopped dead in their tracks. They had come to a stalemate: both fighters started channeling more and more magic into the blades, trying to overcome their rival. Sometimes, they would advance towards Khadgar, just to freeze for a couple of seconds before reaching towards Arthas.

Khadgar knew this couldn't last forever. "My _mana pool may be big, but it doesn't compare to his! I don't know for how long I'll be able to hold up against him."_ He shook that thought out of his head; this was not the time to falter. He realized that Arthas was employing even more energy than before; even though he was also channeling more magic with each passing second, the blades were slowly approaching to impale him.

He ultimately realized that continuing this skirmish was nothing but a waste of mana, so he started thinking what to do next. He decided on trying to attack Arthas from above. Using the casting mastery he'd achieved over all this years, Khadgar quickly switched his channeled magic from frost to arcane. Looking up to the sky, he quickly blinked upwards, the ice blades finally crashing and shattering over the place where he'd just stood and shot an Arcane Blast towards the Lich King.

Arthas had already anticipated this. For as powerful as he was, he knew the mage would avoid such stalemate if possible, and thus would try to attack him from another angle. Because of that, he'd also been channeling necrotic energy through Frostmourne, ready to cast his Pain and Suffering spell. The second he felt the mage leaving the confrontation, and noticing he'd gone into the sky, he released the spell waiting in his blade. The spell directed towards him was easily deflected by his armour. Black lighting travelled from the tip of Frostmourne to the surprised mage, who hadn't expected Arthas to react so quickly. He couldn't even summon a barrier before the spell hit him.

"AAAAAAAARGH!" He started roaring and twitching in pain as the necrotic energy travelled through his body. Arthas laughed as he saw his enemy suffering, kept floating in the sky by his spell. He decided to punish him for his defiance: he drove Frostmourne's tip towards the floor, and the lightning surrounding Khadgar imitated the arc made by the blade. Khadgar was pulled down by the spell and crashed against the wet roof of Karazhan.

For a second, Khadgar's sight blurred, barely being able to notice his surroundings. He had to make a great effort to not lose his conscience after the impact. Arthas chuckled as Khadgar remained on the floor, now trying to withstand the pain of his spell. "Give up, archmage. In the end, you will all serve me." Khadgar looked towards Arthas, mouthing one defiant word: "Never." Channeling all the frost magic he could on his fist, he smashed it against the floor, raising an ice wall between him and the Lich King. The death knight interrupted his spell, amused by this desperate act of the mage.

Khadgar used this time to recover his breath. It had been a while since he suffered so much with a spell, but he was no stranger to pain. Resolved to endure this fight, he used the visual cover brought by the ice wall to hide behind some of the boulders spread in the roof. If he was to stand a chance against Arthas, he would have to resort to his most powerful spells.

The Lich King used this time as well, not only to catch some breath, but to check on his orbs' progress, once again linking his optic nerves to them. He could see several books floating from the halls of the library to the teleporting rune. Only a couple of minutes more and he could leave this tower. But a part of him wanted to continue this fight; he was amused by the battle prowess shown by this mage. He would make a great master of the Scourge.

Khadgar, on the other hand, was starting to plan this last attack. These two spells would waste most of his mana pool, but if he succeeded, he could throw the Lich King of the tower and gain some time to call for backup. Arthas was too strong, even for him. He would need more time for this to work. He placed his hands on the floor, and on the area around Arthas, a dozen arcane elementals appeared, surrounding his opponent. He then started focusing for the task to come.

"Trying to buy some time, archmage?" As the elementals started charging towards him, he quickly slashed them one by one with his blade. The archmage was onto something. He shot a shadow bolt from his free hand, shattering the ice wall. Khadgar was nowhere to be seen.

"You've shown your power in this battle, archmage. I expected no less from the pupil of the last Guardian of Tirisfal." He felt his aura behind some of the boulders. He focused his energy through Frostmourne and blasted the rocks; a mirror image of the archmage quickly vanished. Clever. "Join me; I'll give you powers far greater that you possess, and together, we'll bring Azeroth to its knees!"

Khadgar heard his offer as he finished his spell. The amount of magic, fire in his left hand and arcane in his right, was humongous, easily putting his last Pyroblast to shame. The energy started pulsating around the mage's hands, growing bigger by the second, and wrapping around Khadgar's arms. He could feel his mana diminishing with the usage of this spell, but he needed to resist.

He responded Arthas' offer. "My duty is with Azeroth and its people, Lich King. Behold the power of the living!" He stepped out of his hiding place and released his spell; all the energy collected in his arms rocketed towards the Lich King, taking the form of two dragons, one made of flames and the other of arcane energy. They roared as they travelled towards the death knight, who just as he had done minutes ago, focused energy around him to create a barrier.

Khadgar finished releasing his Twin Dragons spell and started channeling his second attack. The dragons crashed towards the Lich King's barrier, easily breaking it and clashing towards Arthas. He could feel the strength of this spell, pushing him backwards; unlike the last ones, he was actually feeling pain from the sheer power of the dragons. He took Frostmourne with both hands, and focusing magic through it, slashed the dragons with it. He was surprised when they evaded the strike, thus stopping to move him, and started surrounding him.

Every time he tried attacking one of the dragons with his blade, the attack would miss, only for him to receive the fury of the remaining dragon from another angle. Whenever the flame dragon clashed against him, he could feel the fire burning his undead flesh. Whenever it was the arcane dragon, he could feel it tearing down his essence. From the outside, Khadgar saw the dragons form a red and violet tornado damaging the prisoner inside.

Tired of failing his strikes, Arthas started channeling a huge amount of frost magic around him. Out of nowhere, a powerful gust of wind started surrounding the Lich King, the very air freezing under the power of the spell. The Remorseless Winter spell was one of his most powerful zonal attacks, and he would use it to free himself.

He expanded the zone of the spell, driving the cold winds against the Twin Dragons. They were strong, the sheer energy contained in them battling against the cold winds summoned by the Lich King. But in the end, the frost magic of the death knight was stronger; with one last roar, the dragons exploded into a burst of fire and arcane energy. He was very interested; few times had he seen such a powerful spell. But when looked up searching for the archmage, he was even more impressed.

Khadgar stood in front him, some yards away, with an extremely condensed sphere of energy in his hands. He held his arms in front of him, the size of the orb greater than even a Pyroblast. Arthas couldn't quite tell the nature of the spell; he could see red and violet lights coming from the orb, and black lightning chaotically dancing around it. He could even feel the air pulsating around the spell; even with the Armor of the Damned, he wouldn't dare receive such an attack.

The Supernova was Khadgar's last resort spell. It took him years to master the abilities to even try such a spell, and even then, it was extremely difficult to cast. It involved focusing an enormous amount of both fire and arcane energy into an orb and reducing it to the smallest size possible. By being able to condense such amounts of magic into such a compressed form, its destructive power was multiplied tenfold.

He had wondered if the tower would be able to withstand such power, but he remembered his sparring matches with Medivh, years ago, on this very place. His master had placed enchants all over Karazhan to prevent it from receiving damage from spells; he hoped they would withstand the explosion to come.

He faced Arthas for this last attack. "I'll give you one last chance, Arthas. Go away, and never return to this tower. Not even you will be able to survive this."

The Lich King laughed at the menace. He had taken a great interest in the archmage; his potential was unmeasurable. He would happily accept this challenge. "Do not underestimate me, archmage." Arthas quickly channeled a huge amount of necrotic energy into his blade; two could play the same game. "I will show you the undeniable might of my power."

"So be it." Khadgar placed the pulsating orb in front of him, and shot it towards the Lich King, just as he in turn released all the magic contained within his blade, focusing the very spell he'd used so long ago in Light's Hope Chapel into one giant, black energy ball of death.

"SUPERNOVA!"

"APOCALYSPE!"

* * *

 **Author's note: Hi there! Nicholas here, just wanted to say a couple to all you people taking the time to read this story. :)**

 **First of all, you may notice English is not my native language, since I repeat some words more than I would like. So, if any of you people would like to proofread the chapters, I'll be grateful of any help! Likewise, if you see any errors in the chapters already published, please do tell me so I can fix it.**

 **Also, if you review the chapters, it would really help me to see if you are liking the story so far. I've been quite confused about the lenght of each chapter, but this one's pretty long since I was excited of writing this battle jajaja I'll try making the rest of the chapters more proportional to one another in terms of size.**

 **So, guess that's that! Please follow and review the story if you like it, and I hope you've enjoyed this so far!**


	6. Chapter 4: After the Storm

**Chapter 4: After the Storm**

 **Khadgar**

A flash of light…

An explosion…

Pitch black.

The moment he regained his consciousness, his eyes noticed the border of the roof getting smaller every second, and the great walls of the tower rapidly going up… No. They weren't moving up; HE was falling down. His eyes opened in shock, but at least he was now conscious.

He quickly started shapeshifting, his human body becoming that of an eagle in a couple seconds. Turning around, his back now facing the skies instead of the floor, he extended his wings. His falling speed quickly decreasing, he flapped them to start his ascension towards the tower's ceiling.

As he flew up, rain soaking his feathers, making it more difficult to fly, he recalled what had just happened. The spells… whatever the Lich King had casted, it had been enough to equal his Supernova. Given the circumstances, it was a miracle he regained his consciousness before hitting the floor.

After a minute, he arrived at the ceiling, shifting back into a human as he landed. But the moment his feet contacted the ground, Khadgar fell, twitching in pain. He looked at himself, not having the chance before: his robes had been, mostly, obliterated, and blood poured from cuts both in his arm and chest. He could also feel the warm of liquid pouring through his back; probably wounds made by crashing into debris after the explosion.

He looked up, his eyes searching for his enemy. Arthas stood many feet away from him, a black smoke-covered gate behind him. He was still holding Frostmourne, but Khadgar could notice that the Lich King's grip on the sword had loosened. His eyes met those of the Lich King; blue, shining… dead.

"Hahahahahaha…" Arthas' laugh mixed with the sound of the raindrops crashing on his armor. He had seen him as well. "You amuse me, mage. It's been a while since I've had such an… entertaining encounter." He turned around, preparing to enter his portal. "I shall spare your life, as a reward for this amusing duel…" He turned his head back to look at Khadgar one last time. "I recognize your potential, archmage. I'll be eagerly awaiting you in the cold wastes of Icecrown…"

As he crossed the gate, Khadgar yelled towards the Lich King, not mattering if he would hear it or not, "This is not over, Arthas! Whatever you've done, be sure that we will stop you!" He could hear one last chuckle coming from the portal before it closed, the gate losing its form and the smoke dissipating under the rain.

"At last… he's gone." He turned around, biting his lips to retain a pain roar, and laid on his back. With the Lich King out of the picture, he now had to attend to his wounds. Besides the ones he'd already noticed, blood poured from above his left eye, right below his eyebrow. Using his right arm as support, he tried standing up, only to fall once again. Apparently, he'd also broken a couple bones.

As he laid upon his back, thinking what to do now, he noticed the now decreasing amount of rain falling on his face. At least the rain would stop. He'd wasted too much mana in his encounter against Arthas, his Twin Dragons and Supernova spells wasting a great chunk just by themselves. Besides, he'd also received quite some damage from the attacks the Lich King did manage to land, and that's without considering the huge explosion which ended the battle.

After some minutes, the rain finally stopped. The black clouds that had covered the skies during the fight started drifting to other directions, leaving a now clear, dark sky for Khadgar to see. Besides the Blue Child and the White Lady shining through the Great Dark Beyond, lots of other, smaller stars possessed their own light, reaching towards the lands of Azeroth.

With this last, beautiful sight, Khadgar started feeling his mind slowly drift away. He could feel that he was about to faint, the loss of both mana and blood taking its toll on the mage. Using his last energies, he started gathering arcane magic into his left hand, barely being able to feel his right one. As the energy in his hand grew brighter, two arcane guardians appeared before Khadgar. They shined purple, ethereal light, their bodies resembling those of lesser elementals.

Pointing at one, he mustered, "Write a note to King Varian Wrynn to come to Karazhan as soon as he can. Also…" He coughed some blood, before continuing with his indications, "Write for him to bring some medical aid." The first guardian quickly turned around and left towards the giant hole that led from the roof to the insides of the tower.

Then, he pointed towards the second guardian, and with his last forces, whispered, "You… take me to my chambers." With those last words, the archmage of the Kirin Tor passed out.

* * *

 **The Lich King**

A black gate, covered in smoke, opened inside the Halls of Reflection. From it, the Lich King stepped out, weakly walking towards the altar. After a couple of steps, he lost his balance, falling into his left knee. He put his right hand on the ground, and after catching his breath, stood up.

Slowly, he started walking towards the altar at the center of the hall. Although Arthas preferred Frostmourne to stay at his side, he usually left the blade resting here whenever he wondered through the Citadel. Right now, he could afford leaving it. Unsheathing his sword, he loosened his grip over it, watching as the runeblade slowly hovered above its altar, eventually reaching its resting position.

Frostmourne. He never stopped marveling at the magnificence of his weapon. Since his fateful encounter with the sword in that frozen cave, he knew he was destined to possess it; to use it to change the world into his very image. He imagined himself stabbing that miserable paladin through his heart, claiming his soul for the Scourge. Or the mage…

The mage. He was extremely powerful, Arthas had to recognize it. Long had it been since he had such a difficult battle; since he fought such experienced combatant. He hadn't left the duel unscathed; without his armor, he would surely be more than dead by now. Even with it, his sheer power managed to leave some damage on Arthas.

Besides, not only had he used lots of mana, especially on his last spell, but being so far from the Frozen Throne always weakened him. He was at his strongest here, atop the Frozen Glacier, from where he stood watch over his continent. Karazhan was at the other side of the world, hundreds of miles away. Just like it had been on Light's Hope Chapel…

What Arthas didn't want to admit, though, is that he was still somewhat affected after the incident at the Wrathgate. Whatever Sylvanas and her damned Forsaken managed to pull with that Plague of hers, it had greatly weakened the Lich King's power. He mentally noted to tell Putricide to continue searching for a way to reverse this.

As he looked at Frostmourne, gloriously resting over its altar, his mind drifted to that moment minutes ago…

" _Supernova!"_

" _Apocalypse!"_

 _Both spells quickly approached one another, each of them under the order of their caster. Just as the mage's pulsating energy orb quickly advanced towards Arthas, his own Apocalypse spell, focused into a black magic sphere, flew to meet the attack._

 _The moment they touched, a big flash of light, nor white nor black but something in between, illuminated the whole sky above Deadwind Pass. Instantly, a huge pulse combusted against the combatants. It had been as if a huge energy bomb exploded just in front of them._

 _If it hadn't been for the Armor of the Damned, Arthas would've lost his consciousness immediately. As he was being strongly pushed outside of the tower, he managed to catch, for a split second, the body of the archmage being pushed out of the tower's ceiling. But he wouldn't share the same fate._

 _Quickly reacting, Frostmourne still on his grip, he focused all the strength and energy he could gather in such a small timeframe into his hand. Then, he struck his blade against the floor. The blade sliced through the ceiling as if it was butter, half of it inside the ceiling in a fraction of a second. Arthas gripped his blade with all the strength he could, even using both of his hands, to reduce his speed before falling out of the tower._

 _He glimpsed at the energies dancing above the tower; arcane, shadow and fire streams of magic danced towards multiple directions, clashing onto each other and releasing even more energy. His speed started reducing increasingly; after some seconds, he stopped being pushed. He was mere centimeters away from the ledge; a bit more and he would've been in trouble._

 _After stopping, he pulled Frostmourne out of the ground. The magic streams around were starting to grow weak. In just moments, they would be gone. He started looking for the mage; he was nowhere to be seen. But something inside told him he was not dead yet; if he was to escape, now was the chance._

 _He tried linking his optical nerves to the smoke spheres in the library, but he roared in pain. He was more damaged than he thought. He decided to take some seconds to rest before checking on his little summons. He noticed that rain was still falling, but not as much as before; it would soon cease. Then, his sight fixated on the roof. It was almost unscathed. There was no way it could resist such power clash so well; it surely had spells to protect it, but even then…_

 _He stopped drifting into such useless thoughts. After feeling he could use magic again without pain, he linked his nerves into the orbs. He could see a big pile of books gathered inside the rune he had made. Now was the time to leave this cursed tower._

 _Channeling necrotic energy into his hand and directing it towards the rune's direction, he could feel as all the writings started being surrounded by energy, disappearing in a puff of black smoke after some seconds. The orbs had made their job; it was now time for them to cease existing. Focusing his will into his minions, one by one they lost their shape, becoming no more than little clouds of smoke._

 _He had achieved his first goal. He had collected information regarding the Old Gods. He could finally return to his throne. Once again, he channeled his black magic, now into the form of a portal, his mind recreating the image of the Halls of Reflection. Enduring a sudden pain in his arm, he finished channeling, the usual black smoke gate appearing in front of him._

 _He turned again one last time. He saw the lying, wounded figure of the archmage. He couldn't help but laugh after the image. So much willpower, so much strength, so much potential…_

As he approached his destination, he chuckled at the idea of the mage becoming one of his champions. Truth was, he almost turned around to cleave his opponent with his blade and claim his soul. But not only was he still weak from that last spell clash; he also feared for more unexpected visitors to arrive after such huge explosion. Thus, he decided to spare the mage. The secrecy of his plans was more important.

He arrived at a strange room, full of pipes and bottles filled with green and orange liquids. At each side of the room, giant, round-shaped vials hanged over the walls; one with green ooze at the right, and one filled with orange ooze at the left. At the end of the room, opposite from the entrance, stood a table filled with multiple vials and instruments, and a man working on it.

Professor Putricide had been working hard, it seemed. He was mixing many of the different liquids on his vials, taking notes after each try. Besides him, a big pile of books was lying over his desk; Arthas had achieved it. Now, he would make his minions find what he needed.

"Putricide…" The scientist turned around, surprised at the powerful voice of his king.

"Milord! I'm so sorry… I was so focused on my work that I didn't feel your presence..." He kneeled before his king, showing his respect before the Jailor of the Damned. "I received your…documents, if you will, but truth is... I-I don't really know what they are for."

Arthas looked at his chief scientist. "I took these documents from the ancient library of Karazhan, in the Eastern Kingdoms. They contain information that should prove valuable for your research."

"Thank you so much, my king! They su-surely will be!" He stood up, preparing to call for his lead scientists to start reading the books, but Arthas talked once more.

"You're to send to the Frozen Throne any books regarding the history of Azeroth, Putricide. Also… send me any books mentioning the Old Gods. I will read through them personally."

Putricide's curiosity kicked in, wanting to ask why his lord would be searching for such information. But he was no one to ask; he settled with responding to his king, "I'll ma-make sure they arrive as swiftly as po-possible, my king." With that, Arthas turned around to leave the room.

The first part of his plan was ready; he would probably take a day or two in reading through whatever books were delivered to him. Now, the next step was to find information about Ulduar and its infrastructure. Even if he was probably going to find mentions of the Titan Complex in the books he'd taken from Karazhan, he doubted he'd find something that would help him guide himself through the prison.

But he knew he wouldn't need that; he just the needed the memories of someone who did. Knowing exactly who to put in charge of such task, and now less exhausted after the fight with the mage, he charged energy into his hand. Forming his now usual smoke portal, he stepped through.

This room was much more circular than Putricide's main lab room, red curtains hanging from the walls instead of the orange and green ooze-filled vials. The floor and walls were coated in the same black metal that the rest of the Citadel possessed, thus giving the room the same cold, lifeless feeling. Two round staircases surrounded the room, leading to the lower levels.

He could feel the many undead elves roaming the hall kneeling in respect, but he was only interested in the one in front of him. A grey skinned, tall woman had kneeled after his presence. Her long, black hair, tied in a ponytail, fell besides her, contrasting with her red eyes. She was wearing short crimson robes, showing her curvy body. At her back, two giant, bat-like wings protruded, resting on the floor as she kneeled.

"My lord. It's an honor to receive you in my quarters." Her smooth voice had a weak echo to it; some would even describe it as charming to the ear.

"Lana'thel, I've come to give you a task." Without looking up, she answered. "Of course, my king. Whatever task you give us, the San'layn will accomplish." He paused for a second before continuing. "Tell me, Lana'thel… What do you know about Dalaran?"

* * *

 **Hi again! Just wanted to say I've been visiting the older chapters and doing some QoL changes to make them more readable. Since English is not my native language, I make more mistakes than I should jajaja Hope you liked this chapter! Although not as action-filled as last one, it's building up to something great! ;)**


	7. Chapter 5: Change of Air

**Chapter 5: Change of Air**

 **Tirion Fordring**

Once again, he found himself doing prep work for the Tournament. The table was filled with different papers and documents. Justicar Truehart rested on a chair at the other side of the table, writing over a parchment of paper. "…as Warchief of the Horde, we wait for your arrival as representative of your faction. Of couse, you are free to bring any other representative of your choosing. Hoping for the collaboration of our forces to bring us closer to ending this war, signs Tirion Fordring, Highlord of the Argent Crusade."

She finished reading the card and looked up to Tirion for approval. A quick nod from the paladin was all she needed. "Well then, the invitation for Warchief Thrall is ready, and so is King Varian's. We should be sending them now, so they have time to prepare." She looked at Tirion's eyes; his mind was clearly somewhere else. "Are you okay, Highlord?"

He let a deep sigh out. "I'm just thinking if we're good enough on help, Mariel. We've got both the Argent Dawn and the Order of the Silver Hand reunited under the Argent Crusade. We have the Alliance and the Horde with us. The Kinghts of the Ebon Blade are on good terms with us too, but is this enough?"

She went around the table and rested her hand over his shoulder. "All of Azeroth is with us, Tirion. Besides, we also have the full support of the Kirin Tor here in Northrend." He looked at her, a small smile on his lips. "You're right. I'm sorry… the Highlord should never be faltering, less so in times like this." She quickly responded, "It's alright Highlord. This war has been taxing on all of us. I can only imagine how hard it must be on you."

She was right. As the Highlord of the Argent Crusade and current head of the offensive against the Lich King, the fate of Azeroth rested upon his shoulders. He breathed in and out; maybe he needed a change of air. "Mariel, give me some parchment and ink." She quickly handed him the materials, and after taking a seat, started writing a new letter.

After a couple minutes, he had finished. He closed the scroll, sealed it and put it on the pocket of his coat "The Kirin Tor have been crucial in our fight against the Scourge; I think the least we can do is invite them to the Tournament." He started heading towards the exit of the tent. "I shall give this to Archmage Rhonin personally. Can I trust you will see the rest of the invitations delivered?"

Justicar Truehart gave a small bow. "As you command, Highlord." He waved goodbye to her fellow paladin and headed towards his personal tent. The cold winds of Icecrown blew as hard as usual, but at least the sun was shining high on the sky. As Tirion walked through the grounds, he could watch all the different races training over their mounts, hitting either wooden targets or each other.

After a couple minutes, he arrived. Upon entering, he left the letter over a small wooden desk besides his bed and started taking his coat off. It had been a while since he'd visited Dalaran, and the very thought of the warm climate of the Crystalsong Forest already drew a smile on his face. When he wasn't thinking about the war effort, which he was most of the time, Tirion wondered how so many different climates could coexist so close to each other.

He started putting his armor on. If he was to deliver an official invitation to the Argent Tournament to the head of the Kirin Tor, he should show himself as Highlord of the Argent Crusade, not as some random civilian. As he strapped the different pieces of armor over his body, his eyes rested upon the blade hanging from the wall.

The Ashbringer. The only blade which could rival the Lich King's cursed runeblade. He couldn't help but remind that dreadful day on Light Hope's Chapel. Remembering his comrades fallen under the attack of the Scourge always brought a tear to his eye, but crying would help no one. If he was to make justice, he would have to put all his effort and willpower to unite Azeroth and bring Arthas down.

Sitting on his bed, he put on his golden helmet and stood up. Walking to his sword, he carefully grabbed it from its hilt. Tirion could feel the Light flowing through the blade, and into him. It made him feel safe, confident, but most of all, clear. All his doubts had vanished. Now feeling better, he strapped the sword to his belt and exited his tent.

He started walking towards the main building of the Grounds, a big wooden arena which was to host the final trials for the warriors of Azeroth. Many small tents surrounded the structure, with different vendors offering their products. After climbing the stairs leading to the main arena, he turned left and walked towards a pair of Kirin Tor mages talking.

As they noticed the Highlord approaching, they swiftly stopped their conversation and gave a bow of respect. "Highlord." He was relaxed in his response. "Good morning gentlemen, I hope your experience in the Argent Tournament has been pleasing so far." The mages were taken by surprise; for such a high authority, he was pretty friendly.

One of the mages, a red-haired blood elf, was the first to answer. "Of course, Highlord. We've been training as hard as we can for the upcoming trials. But I've got to admit, physical combat ain't our forte, specially being mages." Tirion had a small laugh at this. "I understand. However, if you're to face the challenges ahead of us, you must be prepared to fight even outside of your comfort zone."

"Of course, Highlord." Tirion faced the blood elf. "What's your name, son?" The blood elf was quick to respond, "Arethis Bloodcrown, your Highness."

"So, Arethis. I need to deal with some affairs in Dalaran, and I was hoping you could help me with a portal, if you don't mind." Before he finished the sentence, the blood elf was already channeling the spell. "It would be an honor to help you, Lord Fordring."

As he watched the portal slowly taking shape, he started thinking about his visit to the mage city. It had been a while since he'd taken some time for himself. Maybe he could visit one of the inns inside a city; have some fine Dalaran wine and cheese, or maybe even a beer. But first things first.

When the portal was fully channeled, he extended his hand to the mage. "Thanks for your help, Arethis. I hope to see you and your friend in the final trials." Arethis shook his hand and answered with a smile. "Of course, Lord Fordring. We'll do our best." With that, Tirion stepped into the portal.

* * *

 **Brann Bronzebeard**

A Hero's welcome. One of the biggest inns in Dalaran, rivaled only by The Filthy Animal and the Legerdemain Lounge. A crazy day it was, inside the renown pub. Music could be heard across the building, the sound of violins, flutes and drums filling the place. Waiters full of trays, overflowing with foods and drinks, could be seen going from one table to another, leaving diverse scents as they went through.

Many different adventurers could be seen inside the inn; all of them members of the Alliance, of course. Humans, night elves, draenei, dwarves and gnomes could be seen sharing tables all over the place. Some were eating while chatting, others were happily drinking their beers, or passed out due to their happy drinking. There even was a pink haired gnome playing Hearthstone against a night elf in a corner, some people gathering around to watch the game.

At the centre of the inn, at the biggest table, a drinking match was taking place. In one side, a huge, big horned draenei was finishing his beer jar, ten more of them empty by his side. In front of him, a bearded dwarf with a hat did the same, just as much empty jars by his side. They were both surrounded by a multitude of people cheering on them, but most importantly, waiting to see who would lose first.

They both finished at the same time. As they put their jars on the table, the dwarf spoke to his opponent, clearly tipsy after so much beer. "Come ooon laddie. No matteh how biig ya are, ya ain't beatin' meee her-hip!" The draenei, just as affected as his rival, defiantly responded. "I'm not gonna back down against the gre-" He had to interrupt himself mid-sentence to stop himself from puking. The crowd cheered, but he wouldn't give up. After pushing it down his throat, he continued, "I'm nooot gonna back down against the great Bra-hip! Brann Bronzebeard! I could take on the Legion back in Out-hip! Outland, I can take on a little dwarf here!"

"Who ya calling little, space goat?! Wanna bring it?!" He stood up, barely keeping himself on his feet. "Okey then!" Brann could clearly feel his coordination affected by the sheer amount of booze in his body, but after a couple of attempts, he pulled a bunch of gold coins from his pouch. The Ensidia guild had been kind enough to give him a part of the gains from their visit to Ulduar, and this was no time to be sparing money. He punched the table, coins in hand. "Bring us a keg!"

The crowd started cheering as a couple of waiters brought the giant keg to the table. Brann could see the draenei's expression when the keg hit the table; he was going down. "Wanna back down now, goaty-boy?" The draenei was not going down without a fight. "Bring it on, Bronzebeard!" Each of them took their jars and started drinking like there was no tomorrow.

The crowd cheered as both opponents drank jar after jar of beer. Even the innkeeper and the chefs were keeping an eye on this duel. Brann felt like he was going to throw up in any moment, but he could see the draenei in a state just as bad, if not worse. He had to keep going; what kind of dwarf loses in a drinking contest?

After a couple of minutes, he could see it: the draenei clumsily left his jar over the table, and after putting his hand over his mouth, couldn't hold it any longer. He started puking all over the place, the crowd on his side backing off to evade the puddle of puke. At Brann's side though, everyone was cheering and laughing at the image. The dward, as drunk as he was, could even notice a couple of pouches passing from one person to another; funny how there were actually betting on them.

As some people helped the draenei into the toilet, Brann was lying over the table. The contest itself was always the funny part; having to recover from it? Not so much. He tried standing up, only to inmediately fall to the floor. It had been a while since he had been in a drinking match. Thus, he was kinda rusted. In his golden days, he could drink twice the amount without breaking a sweat.

"It looks like I'm getting older…hip!" A soft voice sounded besides him. "I think it was quite the show." Brann looked up: a young, beautiful elf was crouching besides him, her long hair falling by her side. He wished he was in a better condition. "Considering the difference in size, I'm quite impressed you pulled a win." She offered her hand to the dwarf, who happily accepted; not like he could stand up on his own anyways.

"Ain't about size, gal, but about spirit!" She chuckled at the comment, and coquettishly started looking at Brann. "Perhaps you would prefer if we continued this talk somewhere more… private?" He couldn't believe it; he won the drinking match AND got lucky with a sexy elf? This was surely a good day.

"Sure, gal! A change of air could definitely help me right now… hip!" They started walking towards the exit as she helped the dwarf stay on his feet. Brann couldn't be anymore happy right now. Between his excitement and drunkenness, he couldn't notice her slightly more greyish than normal skin, nor her blood red eyes.

* * *

 **Hi everyone! It's been a while; roller coaster in my life and I had forgotten this actually existed! Since I'm in college now, I'll try updating if I have the time, since writing actually helps me relax a bit. So, thanks for reading and hope you like this and the next chapters!**

 **PD: made some QoL changes to the existing chapters.**


	8. Chapter 6: Decisions

**Chapter 6: Decisions**

 **Tirion Fordring**

Dalaran. Home of the Kirin Tor, and current capital city for the forces of both the Alliance and the Horde currently in Northrend. Its violet towers shined under the sunlight, irradiating both elegance and majesty. The many white stone buildings, either houses, inns or shops, all of them concurred by people, gave the city a vibrant and enjoyable atmosphere.

Inside of one such building, a portal appeared inside a circular room. After a moment, a golden paladin with a shining sword appeared from it. Tirion had to close his eyes for a second after arrival. He never was much of a fan of portals; always made him a bit dizzy. He wondered how mages could get used to it. After deeply breathing for a couple of seconds to recover, he opened his eyes and started walking down the stairs in front in him.

He arrived at a big square, with lots of trees and grass embellishing the area. At the center of the plaza, a big fountain shot streams of water upwards; looking through the water and up to the sun, Tirion even managed to see a little rainbow. Many people were spending their time nearby: some kids were playing ball under the sight of their parents, an orc was sitting on a bench watching the water flow, and a couple goblins where sitting on the grass testing one of their weird inventions.

Suddenly, the little machine they had their hands on started smoking, and before they could react, it blew up. A small cloud of black smoke covered their faces, and after clearing, left the soot-covered goblins in plain sight. Everyone in the square had turned to look at them, and no one could help but laugh at the scene, even the orc. Tirion chuckled a bit as well; it had been a while since he saw something as funny.

This was one the reasons he liked this city: on a continent filled with death, a small beacon of life was as refreshing as it gets. Things like this filled him with hope, hope for a better future. He was tempted to sit for a while and just lose himself inside his thoughts, but he had a mission at hand. He looked at the skies; even from this distance, the giant towers of the Violet Citadel stood out. Not on a hurry, he slowly started walking towards the building.

As he made his way through the streets, he saw the many different races coexisting together. Humans, elves, orcs and undead, as well as many others, made their way from one building to another. Many of them did so on their mounts, which went from the more common warhorses and wolves to some quite unique such as stingrays and flying carpets. Tirion even saw a tauren riding a black dragon; definitely not something you saw every day.

Of course, some people quickly recognized him as he walked. Paladins nearby bowed as he passed through, while others simply waved at him or cheered. He was, after all, the main face of the fighting forces against the Scourge, and the leader of the Argent Crusade. However, even though he'd slowly grown accustomed to it, Tirion was not one to like so much attention. He would've rather gone unnoticed, just enjoying this little walk.

After some minutes, he arrived at the entrance of the Violet Citadel. A white stairway led to the big dome, which only looked bigger as he advanced. Behind it, the sky-high towers of the citadel rose. Under such majesty and beauty, Tirion couldn't help but remember the much humbler Light's Hope Chapel. Even though it clearly paled in comparison, he recognized he would like a chance to visit it again.

As he entered the building, the many mages working inside came to his sight. Many of them were carrying books from one place to another, probably from the many bookshelves covering the walls. Tirion's eyes rested on a particular mage talking to a group of Kirin Tor mages.

The person in question had purple armor over his body, decorated with the Eye of the Kirin Tor over it. He wasn't wearing his helmet, leaving his red hair and beard visible to everyone. On his back, a great flaming staff rested just above a cape as violet as his armor. Rhonin was just finishing giving orders to the now leaving group of mages before he realized the visitor in front in him.

"Highlord Fordring!" He reached towards Tirion, shaking hands as a salute. "It's quite a surprise to see you here. I thought you were busy with the Tournament."

He gave a small smile. "Indeed, Lord Rhonin. These days have been quite extenuating, if I can say so myself." He reached to his pocket. "However, my visit to your beautiful city ain't just for pleasure. I came here to give you this", he said as he extended the letter towards Rhonin. He received it with a raised eyebrow.

"The Kirin Tor have been a great help in the campaign against the Scourge. Without you, maybe we wouldn't have been able to make it this far. What's more, not only have you faced the menace of the dead with us, but you've also contributed in both the war against the blue dragonflight and the expedition into Ulduar. After all you've done, I thought that both you and the Kirin Tor couldn't miss the tournament's main event."

"Oh yes," Rhonin pondered, "the trials to find the warriors who'll enter the Citadel. I hope your tests are challenging enough to test them?" He gave a small chuckle, as did Tirion. "Hopefully, they will. At the very least, I hope to give the heroes a trial deserving of the talents."

"Well, Highlord, I have to admit… I feel honored to have the invitation delivered by you of all people. How can I say no?" Once again, he stretched hands with the paladin. "The Kirin Tor will happily accept the invitation." Tirion smiled at his response. "Glad to hear that. I must be leaving soon though, so you'll have to excuse me. As you said yourself, the tournament is hard work. Can't leave it for too long or Mariel will just burn herself out with so much paperwork."

Rhonin laughed at the commentary. "I know exactly how that feels. Do you really want to leave so soon? Allow me to invite you a drink, as a personal thanks for the invitation." Tirion considered it for a second. "Please, Tirion. Dalaran's wine and cheese was famous across Lordaeron, and I doubt you can get something as good in Icecrown… with all due respect to your tournament, of course."

"Well… guess I can spare an hour or two." Thus, the two men exited the building and started walking down the stairs. "There's a great inn called A Hero's Welcome, just a few minutes from here. It may not be as elegant as others, but I assure you, the food is something else. Besides, Icecrown ain't the happiest of places… maybe this will help you cheer up before returning to work."

"You may be right, Rhonin." As they made their way, he noticed how the archmage glimpsed at the Ashbringer. He was trying to no comment on it, but he couldn't resist. "So, the stories are true, huh? You actually managed to purify it. Quite the weapon, isn't it" Tirion smiled, "It is. But more than a weapon, the Ashbringer is an instrument of the Light. The Light gifted me with the ability to wield it in the name of good, and I can only hope to prove myself deserving of it."

"Quite a lift on your shoulders, isn't? Not only the Ashbringer, but being the head of the Argent Crusade… I kind of understand you, being the leader of the Kirin Tor myself. Having responsibility over all the city and its inhabitants, I do my best to protect them, every day. Having the Council of Six and the Kirin Tor helps, but it can be… difficult at times."

Tirion looked at the archmage and put his hand over his shoulder. "It looks like I'm not the only in need of a drink." They both laughed loudly at the joke; it was good having someone to talk about this.

Finally, they reached the inn. A big round sign signaled to entrance to the bar. As they got closer, the paladin noticed a peculiar image: a female elf almost dragging an incredibly drunk dwarf from the building. Rhonin focused on the dwarf for a couple seconds before recognizing him.

"Brann? Is that you?" He approached the dwarf to help him but stopped to look at the elf. She was quite the beauty, though her skin was kind of dark for her kind, and her eyes… He got distracted by the sound of Bronzebeard's grunts. "Coomeee ooon, Rhonin! Don't ya see we ar-hip! Buuusy?!

Tirion watched the scene; something wasn't right. He focused on the elf; he could feel something strange in her. She started to hurry the dwarf, even pulling him a bit. Rhonin noticed this. "Are you in a hurry? Maybe you would like to share a drink with us." She quickly responded, "We're fine, thanks."

The paladin was uneasy. Something was off. As he watched her, he noticed how her eyes opened when she saw the blade on his belt, and the fear that, for a second, could be seen on her face. _"Scourge!"_ He cursed himself. How couldn't he notice earlier? Paladins are naturals when it comes to sensing the undead. Him relaxing at the idea of some rest had made him lower his guard. Now though, it was clear as day.

Did she know he knew? She was clearly trying to leave as swiftly as possible, still pulling the dwarf while he talked to Rhonin. He focused on sensing a broader area. One, four, no, seven… There was a small group around the inn, scattered. How had they infiltrated Dalaran? And how did no paladin sense them either? Were they so sure of their safety inside the city to not beware? And more importantly… why were they here? What did they want with Bronzebeard?

" _What should I do?"_ He looked around; there were quite some adventurers on the street, but many civilians as well. If a battle erupted here, lots of innocents would get caught in the crossfire. He couldn't risk it. Maybe he could let them go and follow them? No. If the rest of the Scourge spies where watching as well, they probably recognized them already. Trying to discreetly follow them could end in the very battle he was trying to avoid. He had an idea; he just hoped it would work.

He approached the mage and put his hand on his shoulder. "It's okay Lord Rhonin, just let them go. Bronzebeard clearly wants some alone time with his friend." Brann angered at this comment. "Ya trying to imply somethiiiing, High-hip! Highlord?" Tirion tried his hardest to fake a laugh. "We'll go inside and have a drink. Have a good day, and may the Light bless your way." He turned his gaze to the elf as he finished the sentence; he could clearly see her disgust as she listened the word "Light".

"I'll let ya goo, Foordring, just becauseee I'm nooot at my best. Let's go, gal!" With that, the pair started walking, while Tirion and Rhonin made their way to the inn. As they entered, the music, scents and diverse people inside starting to get a smile out of the mage, Tirion made his best to sense if there was any undead inside the inn. He felt just one, and when he looked that way, just noticed a priest having a drink with a blood elf. This was a safe place.

They sat on a table, and he turned to the mage. "Rhonin, we must be fast and discreet about this, so I need you to stay calm when you hear this", he whispered, "The elf taking Bronzebeard away was from the Scourge."

"WHAT?!" As Rhonin stood up, clearly intending to chase after the dwarf, Tirion pulled him back down. "Calm down. Focus. She was not the only one; there's at least twenty more Scourge spies inside, I sensed them as you talked with him." He could almost hear the blood boiling inside him. "Scourge?! On my city?!" He could understand the anger, if they had infiltrated the Tournament, he would be just as mad.

"There's no time! Listen, get to a room and teleport to the Citadel. Get a small group and wait for my signal." He watched around the room; there was a human paladin having dinner on the other side of the room. "I'll ask the paladin over there to follow them. The other spies must have recognized me; if I go after them myself, they'll notice."

Rhonin stared at him for a second and, after getting his hand into a pouch on his belt, placed two small blue orbs on the paladin's palm. "These orbs will let us speak to one another. Give one to the paladin and stay with other." As he stood up to make his way into a room, he turned to Tirion one last time. "When you're ready, we'll port in. Good luck." With that, he left the table.

Tirion quickly made his way to the other side of the room, sitting in front of the paladin. The young, brown-haired man almost let the food fall out of his mouth when he recognized who had appeared in front of him. "Highlord!" He was going to stand up to bow in respect, but Tirion quickly interrupted him. "There's no time, son. We need your help."

He quickly indicated the situation to the paladin before handing him one of the orbs. "They went south, probably turned right before the Citadel. Not even three minutes have passed, and considering Bronzebeard's state, they won't be walking quickly, specially if she wants to go unnoticed. Follow them but don't engage unless you absolutely have to. When you have them, speak through the orb." The man quickly stood up and bowed. "As you order, Highlord." With that, he left the inn.

Tirion remained on the table, thinking. He wondered what to do now. He hated staying idle, considering the situation at hand. However, if he moved before it was time, he could alert the Scourge spies and the streets would turn into a battleground. All he could do was wait. A waitress came to take his order, blushing as she looked at the legendary paladin in front of her. He just ordered a small piece of cheese and bread, and a glass of water.

She left to get his order, and after a minute, she returned. Tirion took some silver coins from a pouch hanging from his belt and handed them over. As she left, still blushing, he started waiting. He took some bites from the cheese; if a Scourge infiltration wasn't taking place right now, he would've actually enjoyed this.

As minutes went by, Tirion was getting more and more impatient. Could he get in time to wherever they were when it was time? Dalaran was quite a big city; even running it would take him more than a while to get anywhere. Quite some time had passed since the elf left, maybe he could go out now and shorten the distance.

As he pondered this, he felt a small buzz on his hand. The orb was shining; a clear voice could suddenly be heard coming from it. "Highlord, they've gone inside The Legerdemain Lounge. I can feel one Scourge spy up the stairs, not including Lady Dwarf Seductress. Should I enter?"

If they were getting into a room, it was possible they wished to teleport the dwarf somewhere else. If they allowed it, they may never see the dwarf again. Before he could answer, another voice came from the orb. "Son, this is archmage Rhonin. We'll need you to enter the room and protect Brann; if they teleport him, he's lost. I'll sound the city alarm to give the civilians some time to get cover; the Kirin Tor will protect them. Once you hear it, go in. Hold on for a minute and we'll get there."

Tirion placed the orb inside his pouch and prepared. The moment he heard the alarm, he would race his way to the inn. It was quite the run, but maybe he could get a ride from someone on the streets. Besides, if Rhonin was on his way, he would make it much faster than him. This was as good a position as Tirion could hope for; before, the Scourge getting the surprise on them would've undoubtedly ended with many dead. This way, civilians would be safe; the Kirin Tor and adventurers present would protect them, and the spies would be the ones to react instead.

Then, it happened. The alarm, a loud and deep noise, started resonating through the city. Not a second had passed when Tirion made his way to the streets. People everywhere would enter the buildings closer to them, while adventurers and Kirin Tor guards approached the civilians to protect them, or drew their weapons, preparing for danger.

He noticed a draenei riding a blue elekk; he quickly shouted. "Son! I need a ride, now!" He ran towards the adventurer, armored in blue plates, who extended his arm and pulled him up the mount. "To the Legerdemain Lounge, now!" The draenei rapidly ordered his mount to speed up, and the beast obeyed. As they advanced, Tirion managed to see a group of mages, riding on top of big stormcrows, make their way from the Violet Citadel towards the inn.

Chaos everywhere. People running, weapons drawn, children crying… It looked like, no matter what, this whole thing was destined to end in a fight. For a second, he doubted if he had taken the right decision. _"No, FOCUS!"_ As of lately, he had been assaulted by many doubts; but he was a paladin of the Silver Hand, the Highlord of the Argent Crusade, and most importantly, a proud defender of Azeroth. It was time to cast all doubts aside.

As they turned around, just across the street from the Citadel, Tirion heard a giant explosion coming from ahead. _"The inn?!"_ He noticed a big cloud of smoke coming from a building far ahead. Had they caught up with their plan and decided to go all out? _"Damnit. We need to hurry!"_ This was the last thought that crossed the paladin's mind before he heard those damned words.

"FOR THE GLORY OF THE LICH KING!"

And for a second, everything turned black.


	9. Chapter 7: Battle in the city and skies

**Chapter 7: A battle in the city, a battle on the sky**

 **Tirion Fordring**

Darkness. Screams. Explosions. Tirion opened his eyes, blood covering his face. He saw a dead elekk a couple meters away from him, one of his legs completely blown up. At its side, the blue armored draenei slashed a ghoul in half with his just as blue battle-axe. Tirion weakly stood up but fell onto his knee. The explosion had hit him quite hardly.

But this was no time to falter. "Light, give the blessing to rise up and defend this city…" He could feel the Light wash through him, as strength came back to his muscles, and finally stood up. More ghouls had approached the draenei, who was slowly having more trouble fending them off.

Tirion wasted no time. He quickly ran towards him, the Ashbringer on hand, and with one swift strike, slashed three ghouls at once. As the bodies began dropping to the floor, they quickly disintegrated into ash, filling the floor. The draenei warrior had just finished dealing with another ghoul when he noticed Tirion behind him. "Highlord! I thought you were-" He was quickly interrupted as even more ghouls rushed towards them.

The paladin extended his hand, a prayer to the Light on his mind, and a bright light quickly enveloped his whole body, protecting him. With a battle cry, he launched towards the incoming ghouls. His many years of battle experience kicked in as he stabbed the first ghoul in front of him and punched another in the face, fazing it for just enough time to pull off his blade and decapitate it.

A third ghoul had tried to attack him from behind, but as it struck Tirion with its claws, the light barrier surrounding him easily repelled the attack. The undead minion roared in pain as its claw burned to a crisp at the contact, but it was quickly silenced as the paladin buried the blade into its skull, turning the monster into ash. Tirion looked around; the streets were filled with undead, adventurers either protecting civilians or outright focused on fighting them head on.

He could see skirmishes all around the area: some paladins fending off ghouls out of a shop, mages blasting skeletons out of the streets, a bear clawing and biting ghouls off while a huntress gave it covering fire… Two thoughts crossed Tirion's mind: where had so many Scourge troops appeared from? And why could he only see ghouls and skeletons?

" _There's no time to waste!"_ He looked around until he reoriented himself, and then turned at the draenei warrior. He was covered in black blood, and Tirion could notice a small tear coming from his eye as he stared at his now dead elekk. "There must be more civilians in need of help. Go give them a hand," he started running towards the first explosion, the inn, but turned around one last time, "and I'm sorry about your elekk." He didn't wait to see the warrior's reaction; as soon as he finished that sentence, the paladin ran off towards the inn.

It would be quite a run from his current location, but he had to keep going. He saw a night elf riding a black nightsaber in the same direction. Just as he was going to ask for a ride, though, another explosion sent them both away. The paladin flew against wall, while the elf and his mount were sent a dozen meters away, but quickly regained their ground. Thankfully, Tirion's barrier was still up, and when he hit the wall, it cushioned most of the impact.

He was stunned for a second. When he recovered, he could see a group of ghouls coming from the house that had just blown up. Before he could reach them though, both the nightsaber and a giant cat jumped upon them, quickly ripping three of them to shreds. Tirion didn't waste any time. He began focusing holy energy in his left hand, right one holding his blade, and as he advanced, directed it towards a ghoul, which after letting a roar of pain, fell dead to the floor.

The druid and its mount were still breaking havoc amongst the ghouls when Tirion stabbed two of them at the same time, turning them to dust in a matter of seconds. An arcane blast coming from the sky finished the last ghoul in the group; the paladin took a moment to regain his breath and look at the skies. At least a couple dozen stormcrows in the area, the Kirin Tor mages over them shooting fireballs and frostbolts to the enemies below.

Tirion entered the now destroyed house. Burned furniture and rugs could be seen all over the place, smoke now filling the building. He sensed something upstairs; after locating the staircase, still usable, he covered his mouth and nose and went upstairs. Reaching the second floor, he followed his senses into an open room. There, he realized.

A figure, covered in black robes, stood inside a green barrier covering most of the room. A glowing rune could be seen on the floor, black smoke emanating from it. The cultist didn't seem to notice Tirion's presence; he was busy chanting in some strange language. " _So, this is how they're summoning them!"_ It was time to put an end to this.

He grabbed his sword with both hands. "Light, give me the strength to break through this darkness!" The Ashbringer started shining with golden light. With all the strength he could gather, Tirion stabbed the barrier. Shadow energy erupted from the barrier, the clash between the Light and the dark magic pushing Tirion away. He flexed his legs to maintain balance and continued pushing. He could feel the sweat dropping over his face; this was proving more difficult than expected.

But he could sense the barrier weakening. **"** _One…last…PUSH!"_ With that, the barrier vanished, leaving the cultist unprotected. Only when his protection disappeared did the robed figure seem to notice the blade-wielding paladin in front of him.

"FOR THE GLORY OF THE LI-" He couldn't even finish his sentence before his head went rolling down the floor. Tirion managed to observe the now bodyless head's features before it became ash: pale grey skin, black hair and lifeless, blood red eyes. _"San'layn."_

He looked around; besides the now useless rune on the floor, there was nothing worthwhile in the room. "Rhonin!" He reached towards his pouch; when he saw the orb, he could see it shining brightly, a loud voice screaming through. "Tirion! Tirion! Can you listen?!"

"Rhonin! They're bringing troops with summoning runes! The Kirin Tor must get inside the houses and shut them down!" Rhonin spoke again, "My city… Arthas will pay for this!" He could hear the anger coming from the archmage's voice, but this was not the time. "Rhonin, focus. We need to inform both the Kirin Tor and the adventurers!"

"You're right. How far are you?" He made a quick calculation. "I should be able to get there in about ten minutes by foot." "Make your way here as fast you can. We've secured Bronzebeard; he's passed out though. The paladin, however…" Tirion didn't need hear the rest to understand. He would remember to honor his fallen paladin comrade, but there was no time to waste now. "I understand. I'm on my way."

He exited the room, and after going down the stairs, found himself once again in the streets. There were less undead on the streets by now; surely the adventurers' effort had been successful. Tirion turned towards the inn's direction and started running. He saw a small group of skeletons ahead, swords in hand. But they were no match for the Ashbringer. As soon as he was in range, he slashed the skeletons with one swift strike. They tried blocking the attack, but their weapons were easily shattered by the force of the swing. Just as easily, they turned to dust.

As he approached the entrance to Runeweaver's Square, a purple light erupted from within. _"Another summon?"_ A trio of Kirin Tor mages, riding their aerial mounts, flew over him towards the plaza, but suddenly, a metal hook coming from below pierced one of them through the chest, pulling him and his mount to the ground. His scream of pain as he was dragged down with his stormcrow reached the paladin's ears before quickly cutting down. _"Damnit, an abomination? I must reach Rhonin, but…"_

He reached the entrance to the square, barely dodging a body thrown at him. He looked back; the corpse was covered in blood and guts, his dwarven features barely recognizable. He turned and observed the monster in front of him: easily over 30 feet tall, this abomination was as grotesque as they'd get: grey, dead skin, open wounds, a third arm extending from his back… It currently tried to impale a leather-wielding tauren, who shot lightning to the monster while evading, hardly damaging him.

Tirion noticed as Kirin Tor mages arrived from across the city to blast the monster, but they were still not enough. He conjured holy energy around him, and with a strong grip on his sword, launched towards the abomination. It noticed the golden-plated warrior approaching. "PALADIN BAD! PALADIN DIE!" Turning its attention to him, it shot his hook in an attempt to impale him, but Tirion managed to dodge it by rolling.

Taking advantage of this opportunity, Tirion grabbed the Ashbringer with both hands and fiercely slashed the chain attached to the hook, cutting it and letting the hook loose. "Everyone! Focus its head!" In a matter of seconds, fire, frost, arcane, and lightning started raining over the abomination. It cried in pain, but still resisted going down.

"PALADIN KILLED HOOK! ME ANGRY!" It started rushing towards Tirion, not noticing the increasing heat around him. Suddenly, a giant fire vortex surrounded the abomination, which roared at the feeling of having its flesh burnt. The paladin looked around; he noticed an armored elf, a red tabard over his chest and a helmet on his head, focusing on his target. Aethas Sunreaver was known as a Fire magic specialist; this here was clear proof.

"Highlord! We need to kill this ugly thing now!" Tirion started focusing holy energy on his blade to attack the monster as soon as the fire tornado went off, but barely noticed the strange movement within. Before he could warn him, a giant piece of flesh erupted from the vortex, flying towards the mage. Being focused in maintaining the spell, Aethas knew as the moment he saw it coming his way he wouldn't be able to blink fast enough.

No one noticed the arrow quickly intercepting the meaty projectile, which at contact made it explode in several smaller pieces and splashing black goo all over the place. A green-clothed elf, bow in hand, had appeared besides Aethas and started shooting towards the monster. "Come on, Sunreaver. I though blood elves were better than that."

Without interrupting his spell, he answered the white-haired hunter. "I don't remember asking for your help, Vereesa, and certainly don't need any night elf to do my job." "Quit it and focus!" Tirion couldn't care less about their problems right now; if they could spare energy in banal discussions, it would be better used on killing the enemy at hand.

More adventurers had arrived at Runeweaver's Square. Now, hunters and warlocks were adding their attacks to the offensive, while warriors, paladins and rogues waited for the fire tornado to wear off before entering to do their job. Tirion himself had returned to focusing holy energy into the Ashbringer; if he did this right, he could finish the battle in one strike. Aethas' shout was heared all across the square: "NOW!"

As the flames disappeared, showing the now charred but still standing abomination inside, the melee warriors launched towards the monster. Swords, hammers, axes and daggers made their way into the abomination's body, which tried to punch and kick around to get the adventurers off it. However, as soon as he did, a shield appeared from within the group to block its attacks. When its attacks actually managed to reach someone, they would get healed by the shamans or priests on the sidelines, and quickly return to combat.

Tirion himself had wasted no time. A great amount of holy energy was now focused on the Ashbringer, shining golden after the amounts of energy within. He needed a way to reach the abomination's head, and it came to him the moment he saw at the sky. With so much noise around, it was a miracle that a Kirin Tor mage managed to hear him. "Kirin Tor! I need a lift!"

The one mage who did hear him directed his mount below. As the stormcrow approached the ground, she gave her hand to Tirion to help him mount. "Get me above it, quickly!" As the bird started flapping its wings, gaining altitude, he observed the battleground below: there were easily thirty or more people fighting the abomination, which was slowly but surely weakening. Between spells, heals and weapon swings, it was quite the spectacle. However, with an invasion ongoing, they would need every second they could manage to save.

After some seconds, he was quite some feet above the monster. He stood up, careful to not lose his balance, and looked towards the mage, "When this is over, I'll need a second ride. I'll wait for you on the ground." He watched the battle below, and one last thought crossed his mind. " _Light, give me the blessing… to not die, please."_ And he jumped.

Time seemed to slow down as he fell, gaining speed as he approached his target below. He could feel the wind on his face and see the ground getting closer every second, but he focused; this was his one chance. He clutched his blade with both hands and aimed towards the monster's head. As it grew bigger, Tirion counted, " _Three, two, one, NOW!"_

The second he was barely above the abomination, he used all the strength he could gather and pierced its skull. As the blade made its way through its head, a loud but short scream filled the square. The golden light made its way from the Ashbringer into the undead being, glowing cracks appearing all over its body. It fell to his knees, and finally, to the floor, dead. Tirion jumped from the now limp corpse to the ground, just before it turned completely to dust.

The whole plaza erupted into cheers at the victory, happy after being able to bring the enemy down. However, Tirion's eyes had focused at another image. One of the square's wall was demolished, probably the abomination's doing. From below the rubble, a small hand holding a ball. A small tear fell from the paladin's eyes; even the innocents weren't safe from the Scourge. As the mage approached Tirion with her stormcrow, he gave one last order: "Everyone! The Scourge may still be causing havoc across the city! Follow Windrunner or Sunreaver and help the civilians!" With that, he mounted the stormcrow and went off.

"To the Legerdemain Lounge!" She quickly directed her mount to the requested place. Tirion used this moment to watch the city: smoke rose from different parts of the city, but as far as skirmishes go, it seemed like it was way better than it was a couple of minutes ago. He knew that by flying he would get to Rhonin in just a minute, but just to be sure, he pulled the speaking orb from his pouch. In that very moment, a quick shout came from it. "It was a distraction! Get here qui-"

A big explosion came from the inn, which Tirion could clearly see by now. The stormcrow stopped dead on its track, afraid of the explosion. He tried to sense undead around the explosion, and for a fraction of a second, his blood ran cold at the amount of dark energy coming from the place. _"The Lich King?! No, it's strong, but not even close to him. It's still a massive amount of energy… who is it?"_

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt another presence quickly approaching the explosion. He looked around; no one on the streets. Then, he looked at the skies. He could recognize the frostwyrms anywhere: skeletal dragons, magic glowing inside them; they were the Scourge's most powerful aerial forces. This one was quickly gaining speed by picking its wings, pointing towards the explosion.

Then, Tirion saw it: just as the dragon arrived, a winged figure arose from within the smoke. He managed to notice the red clothes it was wearing, matching the color of its bat-like wings. It was holding another, shorter figure with one arm, and the moment the frostwyrm was above them, spreading its wings to slow down, they took place over the winged beast, which proceeded to gain speed. In one swift movement, they were flying off to the distance.

Tirion didn't know what to do. However, he was quickly put in track by the voice coming from the orb, "They have Bronzebeard! We need to go after them!" Knowing that Rhonin was still alive, he turned to the mage. "You heard him! Let's go!" With that, the stormcrow started chasing after them, flapping its wings as hard as it could.

They could feel the wind on their faces as the city became smaller and smaller behind them. When he looked back, Tirion noticed that a group of Kirin Tor mages, riding their own stormcrows, were rallying behind them. What's more, some other adventurers on their own mounts were accompanying them as well. With a more varied group, he felt safer already.

They could now see the yellow trees below them, as well as the giant crystal tree that gave the zone its name. The Crystalsong Forest was one of the most beautiful areas of Northrend, but this was no time for a tour. Specially given the direction they were following, and the great, menacing structure that set the ending of this chase: the Icecrown Citadel.

Resting on the icy grounds of the zone it took its name from, it marked the final objective for the allied forces of the living' campaign on the northern continent. But they were not ready yet. If they dared entered the Lich King's fortress now, it would be suicide, even for Tirion. If they didn't catch the frostwyrm before that, they would have to pull back.

"Light, give us the strength to catch up to our enemies!" The stormcrow could suddenly feel rejuvenated energies coming from within and started ramping up the speed. Slowly, it started shortening the distance between them. Tirion wondered why there were no more Scourge troops around, but had his questions answered to him in a moment. "Highlord! Frostwyrms incoming!" Tirion looked at the direction the mage had pointed to; a numerous group of undead dragons, their skeletal bodies shining with the magic within them, could be seen on the distance, making their way to meet the group.

" _Can we beat them? Between battling them and recovering Bronzebeard… It's too much, and the rest are way behind us."_ However, when he looked behind, Tirion was surprised to see the rest of the group had caught up. He knew paladins could empower their mounts to move faster with the Light, but sometimes forgot that other adventurers, like hunters, could do so as well.

As they grew closer to their target, and thus, to the incoming frostwyrms, Tirion started preparing for the battle. Considering most of the adventurers following him would probably be ranged fighters, and that the most difficult battle would be actually retrieving the dwarf, he knew that they would be the ones with the best chance to reach Bronzebeard. However, it was easier thought than done.

There was only one way this would work. "Mage, do you think your stormcrow will understand an order?" She looked back at him. "Do you have an idea, Highlord?" He looked back at the frostwyrms; judging by the distance between them, they didn't have more than half a minute. "We'll be the first to intercept those dragons, and first and foremost we need to recover Bronzebeard. If you can command your mount to focus on reaching him, we can both concentrate on defending ourselves to actually survive this. Can you do it?" Twenty seconds.

She inclined towards her crow's ear and whispered something, and it cawed back in response. "She'll do her best, Highlord. Do you think we can do this?" He could see the fear in the mage's eyes; for many, a situation like this would be certain death. "What's your name, lady?" "Cassandra, Highlord." He looked back at the champions behind them; he could see them readying their weapons and spells; then, he looked at incoming frostwyrms. Ten seconds.

"Okey, Cassandra. Get ready…" Fire started surrounding her hands as she formed a fireball, and Tirion gathered as much holy energy as he could manage. The wind crashing against them, the coldness of the skies, the sun slowly approaching the horizon… all there was now were the enemies and them. Five seconds.

"…because we can do this, and we will. NOW!"

They launched their spells at the closest frostwyrm in fron of them, which quickly went limp after the attack. The stormcrow barely dodged the approaching body, rolling to the side; they had to harden their grip on the reins to not fall off. In a matter of seconds, the sky had turned into a battleground, spells, arrows and dragon breath appearing all over the place. Some frostwyrms fell under the barrage of fireballs and explosive shots, while others managed to burn the incoming adventurers with their undead flames.

The stormcrow did all it could to avoid the incoming wyrms; empowered by the Light, it dived, rolled, sped up, slowed down and raised up to reach the ever-distant dwarf and his captors. However, with all the maneuvers, it seemed like the distance between them enlarged instead of shortened. Meanwhile, Tirion and Cassandra went all out: she launched fireballs as fast as she could, while the paladin continued healing and strengthening the crow, while defending them from the incoming attacks.

As he erected a barrier of holy magic to counter an incoming frost breath, Tirion watched the battle unfold. Blue, red, green and yellow; spells of all colors and shapes could be seen travelling from one place to another. Ignoring the circumstances, one could even say it was beautiful on its own way. He noticed a big frostwyrm coming directly towards them, its intent not to burn them with its breath but to outright crash against them.

" _Suicide attacks?! At that speed, I don't think the crow can dodge it! Think, Tirion, think!"_ The moment it popped into his mind, the paladin went into action. As the wyrm approached, he started channeling holy energy into the Ashbringer, which started shining in response. Then, he stood up, flexing his legs to keep his balance, and focused the rest of his energy and magic in his legs. He needed to time this right; else, he would most likely not survive this.

"Highlord! What are you doing?" He didn't turn his sight from the incoming dragon. "I'll need you to catch me, Cass. I'll trust you with this one!" With that, and releasing the magic gathered in his legs, he jumped. Propelled by the Light, he advanced way more than he normally would, intercepting the dragon which was now few feet away from the stormcrow, full speed.

Before it could react, Tirion swung his blade against the undead monster, a vertical slash easily crushing its skull. The holy energy gathered inside the Ashbringer quickly scattered across the dragon's body, which shattered into several pieces before turning to ash. With it dead, he'd avoided certain danger. However, now he had now nowhere to land.

As he started falling, his heart pounded faster and stronger. For a second, he even thought that the mage would not be able to catch him, and that this would be his final battle against the Scourge. He was quickly shaken off those thoughts though as a claw strongly grasped his arm. He calmed down a bit and looked forward; they'd kept their distance with Bronzebeard, but that was still a long way to go. Then, he looked around: the frostwyrms were now all behind them, leaving them clear to give chase. "Cassandra, give me a hand!" As she helped the paladin back up, he started channeling as much holy energy as he could into the stormcrow; he was feeling the exhaustion from all the fighting taking its toll, but this was the last chance they'd get.

As the bird started gaining speed, the distance between the dragon and them shortened. The Icecrown Citadel looked closer and closer; if they couldn't manage to reach them in time, they'd have to go back. "Highlord, I have an idea! I need you to take the reins though!" As they swapped places, Tirion now handling the mount's reins, Cassandra started concentrating arcane energy all around them.

She had to do this correctly. blinking alone, standing still or moving at low speeds was one thing; blinking both herself and Lord Fordring, alongside the stormcrow, at this speed, could end up with all three of them dead if even the slightest mistake was made. She had one chance. Calculating the speed at which they gained distance and focusing on the right spot to end up near the dragon, she gave one last warning to Tirion.

"Highlord, I'll blink us all just besides Bronzebeard's captor. It'll probably take all of my reserves of mana, so I won't be much help after that." Regaining all the strength he could, he gave one last nod. "Let's do it." In a moment, all three of them had disappeared from their spot on the sky, reappearing right beside the frostwyrm, the captor, and Brann.

Time slowed down for Tirion as he went into action. He could clearly see the figure responsible for Bronzebeard's capture: a female, grey skinned elf, with bat-like wings spreading from her back and a gemmed staff on her back. _"A San'layn"._ Behind her, the dwarf was tied up in black ropes, still conscious. Brann's eyes opened at the sight of the paladin, and he'd probably started shouting had he not had his mouth covered with ropes as well.

The undead elf quickly unsheathed an elven dagger, flowing with death energy, and quickly tried to stab the paladin. He blocked the weapon with his own blade, and using his free hand, shot a bolt of holy energy towards his enemy. However, she quickly used one of her wings as a shield, the attack dissipating at contact.

As this exchange happened, the frostwyrm tried to make some distance by changing directions, but Cassandra, barely remaining conscious after her previous spell, steered her mount in the same direction. Tirion, making his best to keep his balance, tried slashing the elf, but she quickly countered by grabbing her staff and blocking. She tried slashing the paladin with her dagger once more, but he grabbed her arm midway. Locked in that position, they started trying to overcome the other's strength.

Tirion could feel his foe's aura surrounding them, trying to weaken them with shadow energies. Was it not for the Light, he may had started feeling weaker; however, he didn't know how his companions were doing, nor had he the opportunity to check on them. Even with the Light on his side, the elf had the upper hand on strength, just barely.

"Do you really think you can win this, paladin?" Her voice, though nice sounding, made her intentions very clear. "The Lich King will rule over all of you, no matter what you try!" He planned his next move. "Sorry lady, but he ain't no king of mine!" Focusing his energy, he pushed his enemy back, releasing his grasp on her arm and quickly grasping the Ashbringer with both hands. Focusing the Light through his blade, just as many times before, he started to stand up, ready to jump for a decisive attack.

However, the undead elf had a plan of her own. The moment she felt herself free, she focused all the energy on her dagger and the gems on her staff to summon a purple smoke around the stormcrow and its riders. Tirion, reacting to the sudden spell, gathered the holy energy inside the Ashbringer back into himself, and then formed a barrier around him and his allies.

The mage was useless against this attack; with all her mana spent, all she could do was steer her mount in the right direction and watch as Tirion did his best to cover them all from the spell. The purple smoke struck surrounded the barrier, trying to push through. Fordring could feel the sweat running across his face; he didn't have much time left on him.

"You are a fool for trying to best the Blood Queen of the San'layn on your own, paladin! I will wipe you and your friend from existence, and then your precious Crusade will be next!" Tirion was running out of mana and ideas. Both he and Cassandra were already drained, and they didn't have more than a minute before getting into dangerous distance from the Icecrown Citadel.

"Cassandra! Listen to me carefully!" She turned towards him. "We only have one chance at this! I'll infuse you with a Blessing of Wisdom, which should give you some of your mana back! Once I do it, at the count of three, blink yourself and the stormcrow right behind them, understood?!" She glared back, worry showing on her face. "But Highlord, you wo-" "THERE'S NO TIME! GET READY!"

With one hand up focusing on the barrier, he pointed the Ashbringer towards the mage. Suddenly, she could feel a surge of mana back on her. She quickly focused on the spot she would blink to; it would be way easier now that it was a shorter distance. Tirion was feeling his arms numb and his vision became blurry for a second; this would be his last attack. He knew that the smoke would at least give him the element of surprise; that was his only advantage.

"Three. Two. One. NOW!" Just before the stormcrow disappeared from it previous spot, Tirion jumped towards the dragon, dissipating the barrier and gathering all the holy magic he could inside his blade. The smoke made his skin burn in pain at contact, but he gritted his teeth and endured. As he appeared through the smoke, the Blood Queen was taken by surprise. Before she could react, Tirion unleashed all the holy energy around. "HOLY NOVA!" The holy energy spread around them, pushing the elf off her mount and into the abyss.

Before the frostwyrm could react and try to shake him off, Tirion gripped Brann, his eyes joyful at the turn of events, by the ropes restraining him. With the last strength he had in him, he jumped from the frostwyrm, the dwarf besides him. Just as he expected, Cassandra and her stormcrow were just behind them, ready to catch them. Just as he landed over the bird, he gripped the mounting chair as hard as he could with his free hand. "LET'S GO!"

As he placed the dwarf between him and the mage, the stormcrow quickly made a turn and started heading towards the opposite direction. He didn't know where the elf had ended, but he didn't care; he was barely staying conscious, and definitely didn't have the energy to keep fighting. They had Bronzebeard, now it was time to return.

As they gained distance, Cassandra looked back. The frostwyrm wasn't following them, which meant that it probably went after its rider. The worst was now over; they'd made it out alive. "We did it, Highlord! I can't believe we did it!" He looked back at her, a small smile on his lips. "You're right, girl. We did it, thanks to you." She felt embarrassed at the compliment of such a mighty figure, a small giggle coming from her.

Tirion was preparing to cut Bronzebeard's ropes, but suddenly went cold. A horrid, dark aura suddenly appeared near them. _"No…NO!"_ He barely managed to lift the Ashbringer before a black figure, wielding a shining, blue sword, quickly slashed against him. The impact of both blades sent waves of energy around, the immediate force stopping the stormcrow on the spot. Although Tirion was able to save them from the attack, the strength of the attack made him lose balance, almost falling off. He managed to grab a rope from the mounting chair. As he hanged, barely keeping his grip, he could see him.

A black, armored horse spread its wings in front of them, blue light coming from its eyes. The Plate of the Damned shined black as the light was reflected off it, and Frostmourne glowed the same color as its master's eyes. The Lich King, riding his old horse, Invincible, blocked their path.

"Fordring…" Tirion didn't have the strength to even lift himself up, and Cassandra was probably shocked at the sudden appearance. There was no way he would win this. _"If this is it, I won't go down without a fight!"_ "Arthas! You dare show your face after al you've done?!" The Lich King chuckled at this comment, his echoing laugh filling the place.

"Should I remember you it was you and your precious allies who dared show in this continent? My continent?" His aura started feeling much heavier, and the air much colder. Cassandra started preparing a fireball with the few mana she had left. Arthas couldn't help but smile. "For as much as I would like to play with you, I'd rather not waste my time with your… champions."

" _Champions? There must be backup on the way!"_ Arthas spoke again. "I've taken interest in Bronzebeard, Fordring. Give him to me, and I'll consider rewarding you with a quick death." Cassandra looked at the dwarf. Brann's eyes were full of fear, and he shaked his head from one side to the other. Tirion was not one to betray his comrades. Holding to the ropes with one hand, he used his last strength to lift the Ashbringer with his free arm, one last defying gesture against the Lich King.

"We will never hand you one of our own! Listen to my words, Arthas! No matter how many of us fall against you, in the end, the forces of the Light will claim victory!" At this, the Lich King couldn't help but loudly laugh. "Defiant to the very end. I will gladly come back to raise you as my most powerful champion, eager to make you desecrate the very Light you so fervently worship. But for now, the dwarf is all I'll need."

He raised Frostmourne, necrotic lightning instantly appearing from its tip. Striking the stormcrow, it twitched in pain as the lightning kept it in its place. Cassandra fired her fireball towards the Lich King, but he just swept it away with his free hand. Even as fear started showing on her face, she would battle to the end. With her last mana left, she started casting the biggest Pyroblast she could muster.

Tirion, on ther other hand, struggled to keep his grip on the rope, as the stormcrow's movement made it difficult. He noticed Arthas gathering even more energy on his free hand, a black, pulsating sphere forming on his palm. He looked at the Ashbringer one last time, his only regret being the fact that he couldn't do more to stop Arthas. But he knew that the Argent Crusade would live on, and that in the end, the Light would prevail. _"Light… give me…the energy…to die fighting."_

The Lich King laughed on last time. "I must admit, that I used to wonder about the many ways I could kill you, Fordring. I will enjoy this more than you can imagine…" This was it. "SEE YOU IN HELL, FORDRING!" The blast quickly travelled across the sky. At the same time, the mage shot her Pyroblast to intercept it, and Tirion casted his last Holy Blast.

All three spells intercepted each other, creating a huge explosion which blasted the Tirion, Cassandra, Brann and the stormcrow off the sky. As they started falling, Tirion watched around. Both the mage and her mount were now limp, gaining speed with each passing second. As he looked up, he noticed the Lich King's mount flying just besides the dwarf, as Arthas grabbed him into the sky and started creating a portal mid-air.

" _I guess this is really it. Light… please, may you receive me in your gentle embrace."_ His mind couldn't help but think of all the fellow comrades that had fallen in the battle against the Scourge, and how he would now reunite with them. He could almost feel as if he was falling slower, as if time slowed down. _"Ha…curious."_ With one last smile, he closed his eyes.

 **Hi everyone! Nick here, finally finished with college for this year, so I should have more time to write these! As always, sorry for the long breaks, and hope you liked this chapter!**


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